


Dreams of Home: FFXIV Write 2020

by LynMars79



Series: Aeryn Striker [10]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Alternate Future, Angst, Backstory, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Future Fic, Gen, Heavensward, Midlander Hyur Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Missing Scenes, Other Characters - Freeform, Pre-Relationship, Stormblood, Tumblr: FFXIVwrite2020, a realm reborn, shadowbringers, silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:00:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 27,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26711089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LynMars79/pseuds/LynMars79
Summary: 2020's daily word prompts, originally posted to Tumblr and then given a revision/editing pass before coming over here. My Midlander Aeryn Striker is the Warrior of Light, but shares the spotlight with other OCs and NPCs across the past, present, future, and alternate realities of the MSQ. Spoilers abound.
Relationships: Warrior of Light & Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Warrior of Light/Thancred Waters
Series: Aeryn Striker [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1632130
Comments: 10
Kudos: 16
Collections: #FFxivWrite2020 Final Fantasy 30 Day Writing Challenge, Emet-Selch's Wholesomely Debauched Bookclub FFXIV-Writes 2020 Collection





	1. Table of Contents

**Author's Note:**

> [FFXIV Write 2018: Dreams of Light](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16817203/chapters/62463235)  
> [FFXIV Write 2019: Dreams of Shadows](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20499422/chapters/62462092)  
> See my other works in the "Aeryn Striker" series for more about Aeryn, her brother, her friends, the Scions, and her relationships.

For this year, I used the Sunday freebie days to work on some of my WIPs I've been sitting on for too long, and posting them separately.

 **Free Days:** [When Everything Changes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26329843) | [Living Memory](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23333854/chapters/60262534): [The Parley](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23333854/chapters/64780096) | [Unexpected](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25417882/chapters/61642573): [Sandstorm](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25417882/chapters/64475920) | [Unexpected](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25417882/chapters/61642573): [Realizations](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25417882/chapters/65114050)

The list of fills here will be less than 30 for that reason. The definitions of many of the words and phrases will also be added to the posts; for some of them, the prompt was merely a jump-off point. For others, multiple meanings of the word made their way into the fill. Sometimes it's directly mentioned in the work, sometimes it's not.

**Prompt Responses:**

2\. Crux - Gaius trying not to be bothered. Sorrow of Werlyt spoilers, Shadowbringers 5.2-5.3

3\. Sway - Thancred and Aeryn watching dancing. Pre-relationship. Early A Realm Reborn 2.0

4\. Muster - Thancred and Aeryn the morning of Ala Mhigo’s liberation; something of a sequel to "[Make it Better](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25417882/chapters/61857331)" in _Unexpected_. Stormblood 4.0

5\. Clinch - Aeryn only learns to fish after battling Hades. Post Shadowbringers 5.0.

6\. Matter of Fact - Iyna and C’oretta discuss changes to a Scion. Post Shadowbringers 5.3

7\. Nonagenarian - Master Matoya, Y’mhitra, and Thancred’s post-5.3 look. Shadowbringers.

8\. Clamor - Thancred and Aeryn, post-Praetorium celebrations, pre-relationship. A Realm Reborn 2.0

9\. Lush - Dark Autumn takes Aeryn home for a rest. Stormblood 4.5

10\. Avail - Thancred versus C’oretta being C’oretta. Post Shadowbringers 5.3

11\. Ultracrepidarian - Dark and Arenvald investigate a rumored Titan-slayer. Shadowbringers.

12\. Tooth and Nail - Zaine Striker, the Warrior of Light, as the Seventh Umbral Calamity unfolds. Legacy 1.x

13\. Part - Thancred, Minfilia, Ryne, and separations. Heavensward 3.4 - Shadowbringers 5.3

14\. Ache - Aeryn regrets a reckless emotional action. Early Heavensward 3.0

15\. Lucubration - Thancred, Yda, and Lyse, Sharlayan school days. Pre-canon.

16\. Fade - In a distant future, Ciuna remembers the Warriors of Darkness. Shadowbringers.

17\. Panglossian - Two ancients in an alternate future. Shadowbringers.

18\. Where the Heart is - The Scions’ hearts are scattered across two worlds. Post Shadowbringers 5.3

19\. Foibles - Thancred helps clean Aeryn’s pack before she leaves for Doma ("Realizations" above follows this). Early Stormblood 4.0

20\. Argy-Bargy - Literature is serious business-ask Thancred and Aeryn. Shadowbringers 5.0-5.3

21\. Shuffle - Aeryn, Dark, and C’oretta teach Iyna to play Triple Triad.

22\. Beam - Aeryn has an evening conversation with Carvallain on the _Misery_. Early Stormblood 4.0

23\. Wish - A quiet night of reading and cuddles for Thancred and Aeryn. Post Shadowbringers 5.3

24\. When Pigs Fly - Felina of the Night's Blessed decides to not miss an opportunity with Urianger. Shadowbringers 5.1-5.3

25\. Irenic - Ysayle and Estinien co-existing at Moghome. Mid-Heavensward 3.0

26\. Paternal - X’rhun discovers a past truth Alberic wants to keep hidden. Sometime in ShB.

27\. Splinter - Azem returns home to see what, if anything, can be salvaged. Pre-canon/ShB thru 5.3.


	2. Crux

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shadowbringers 5.x. Sorrow of Werlyt Spoilers. Gaius Baelsar may finally be starting to realize just how much he has to answer for, whether he likes it or not.

The Weapon towered over him.

The power of it surged through his limbs as he sat in the cockpit, the machinery thrumming like the deep purr of a large cat. The lights pulsed in a steady heartbeat, all in deep, dark red. It was humid, sweat sliding off his brow, and he knew soon the realm would be reborn by his hand—

There was _too much_ power, and Lahabrea’s unhinged, mocking laughter. The world burned, airships falling from the sky, the smell of flesh afire unmistakable to his nose.

Milisandia screamed while Nael laughed, calling down the moon. She loomed above, the red weapon casting its baleful light across the plain and he was cold.

He only knew one way to stop it.

Light glimmered when he tried to look that direction, blinding his eyes, the accusations clamoring to be heard, voices of the dead lashing at his skin while the living sought his bones.

He had a choice.

The Weapon towered over him. Nael and Lahabrea laughed. His proteges wept and cursed him.

The Light glimmered, offering both damnation and succor. He had but to reach back and accept.

He had but to _ask_.

He swallowed the bile that rose in his throat. He was The Black Wolf. He was Gaius van Baelsar. He—

Stood alone, broken, the Praetorium in flames as Nael and Lahabrea laughed, as his children wept and cursed, as the Warrior of Light shone like the sun with a hand held out in condemnation or aid, and the Weapon towered over him...

* * *

Gaius woke slowly, eyes blinking away the sleep sand as the ever-present clouds of Ghimlyt rippled across the sky through the open tent flap. He could smell coffee brewing and hear the snap of the fire--Valdeaulin still preferred his old fashioned methods over Garlean innovation, and he was doing the cooking this morning.

Gaius remained still a few moments longer, simply listening and pondering the dream. He was too practical to want to think it meant something, though the same dream--or similar enough to not matter--had plagued his sleep on and off since the Ruby Weapon had been defeated.

_Since Milisandia had--_

He sat up; he had to face the current day. The Warrior of Light had been summoned and would arrive in a few bells, to hear the intel on the next Weapon. To give them aid, when he himself was not enough to stop what his actions had begun, reduced to trusting his former adversary to take them down wherever this road led.

Gaius left his tent finally, eyes meeting Valdeaulin’s as they did every morning-- _not today yet,_ they silently agreed once more--and began to prepare for another day of working with his enemies against the Weapons he had awoken, to stop the children he had raised for war.

It was nothing less than he deserved.

He continued to ignore the growing voice saying it was more than he should have been given.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _((Merriam-Webster: In Latin, crux referred literally to an instrument of torture, often a cross or stake, and figuratively to the torture and misery inflicted by means of such an instrument. Crux eventually developed the sense of "a puzzling or difficult problem"; that was the first meaning that was used when the word entered English in the early 18th century. Later, in the late 19th century, crux began to be used more specifically to refer to an essential point of a legal case that required resolution before the case as a whole could be resolved. Today, the verdict on crux is that it can be used to refer to any important part of a problem or argument, inside or outside of the courtroom.))_


	3. Sway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Early A Realm Reborn: The night before Aeryn's first official mission as a Scion, Thancred discovers one of her interests.

The heat of Vesper Bay rose off the pavements of the harbor town, even as the sun sank over the distant horizon line across the water. Thancred watched the minstrels set up, the dancing girls waiting for the new songs they would play. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of their newest recruit crossing the square, also studying the change in the town’s energy.

“Aeryn!” He called, a hand raised in greeting.

She nodded and smiled, coming over to meet him. “Need something?” She asked.

He shook his head. “No no, nothing like that. I just thought you’d want to stick around and see what’s happening here, before returning to the Waking Sands.”

She only replied with that quizzical little head tilt she often made, dark brows drawn together. Thancred gestured to the square. “The hot day ends, the cool night begins, and in between, there’s a perfect time for--ah, there!”

A lute was strummed and a drum began to beat. Someone had a fiddle, and there were two different kinds of pipes. They started off with a merry jig, the dancing girls laughing as they kicked their feet, eventually synchronizing their movements from long habit as they replied to the minstrels’ tune.

Thancred watched with a grin, sure to give each lady the attention she deserved--naught less than expected of him by the locals after all this time, and he had to admit it was a lovely view. From the corner of his eye, he noticed Aeryn’s fingers drumming along on her crossed arms. She almost shuffled her feet but seemed to stop herself, and he began to pay a bit more attention to his new colleague.

“Looking forward to tomorrow?” he asked casually.

She almost started, not expecting him to speak up--she had been engrossed in the music, he realized with a tinge of regret. She glanced at him and shrugged with a single small shake of her head.

“I understand if it may seem daunting, first assignment for our group and all. But you’ll have me along to lend a hand,” he continued, giving her a saucy wink.

She blinked at him, a bit of a blush rising on her face before she looked away quickly. It seemed rather easy to bring a bit of color to her tanned cheeks, he was noticing. That was far too tempting for fun, especially when it seemed the rare hint into her mind; the woman was naturally quiet.

“You’ll have to speak up a bit more to keep me company,” he teased lightly. “While I’m excellent with charades, a quick word works best in most circumstances.”

Her motions froze. “No.”

He was surprised by her tone; low and thick with anger and something else, old enough to make it difficult to identify without knowing her better. He turned to Aeryn, blinking. “I’m sorry, my friend; have I upset you?” Leave it to him to overstep--again, given his attempts at flirtation before realizing they would only ever be rebuffed.

“I say what I must, when I must,” Aeryn said, voice calmer than her stormy eyes implied.

“Ah, I apologize; I meant it as a jest, naught more. A poor one, obviously. I understand how it could sound, and I am sorry.”

She looked away for a moment. “I’ve been told I don’t speak up enough. As a judgment.”

“And I have been told I talk too much,” he replied with a grin, trying to diffuse the situation his careless words had created. “So nevermind all that; you continue the stoic heroics, while I do the talking. We can balance one another.” That got him a small smile, and some of the clouds clearing from her eyes. Such an expressive shade of grey they were, he noted again.

Aeryn looked back to the square. “...I’m sorry too.”

He quirked a brow. “For what exactly?”

“Snapping,” she said, then hesitated. If that was ‘snapping’, he’d hate to see her truly riled. “I was tol--I know not to take you too seriously in casual conversation.”

Gods, Yda really had stacked the deck against him with this one, hadn’t she? He would have to do something about that once they returned from their mission. He’d have plenty of time to think of an appropriate prank that wouldn’t get him into too much trouble with Papalymo.

In the now, however, Thancred only laughed. “Any warnings my esteemed colleagues gave you on that front--are probably true, to be perfectly honest.” He rubbed the back of his neck and shrugged expansively, a sheepish look on his face. It was enough to draw out a brief giggle, so he called that a win. Perhaps tomorrow would not be so awkward after all.

The tune changed once again, something a bit slower but no less energetic, more strings and drums, a foreign sound he couldn’t quite make out, though Aeryn straightened a bit, eyes gleaming silver in surprise. One of the dancing girls, after some giggling discussion with her peers, began to move to the music, her motions graceful as she spun and wove across the space alone.

“Know this tune?” Thancred asked quietly, watching Aeryn more than the scantily-clad miqo’te.

Aeryn nodded. She was trying, and failing, not to move in time with the music.

“Thavnairian, isn’t it?” He continued, only half certain he had it right before she nodded again, a bit of mist gathering in her eyes now. He recalled Y’shtola mentioning Aeryn apparently hailed from the Near East. He turned back to the dancing girl. “Know you this dance, then?”

There was a moment’s hesitation. “Yes,” Aeryn finally replied. “But it’s really meant to be done with a partner.”

“You could join her,” he recommended, just to see her reaction.

Aeryn startled, that blush blooming across her features again. “I...wouldn’t want to intrude, and…” she looked around the square, and shook her head again.

“Can you dance?” he asked.

She gave him a sharp look and nod. Of course she could. Having seen how certainly she moved in combat, he could only imagine how graceful she would be in less fraught circumstances.

“I’d like to see it,” he said. “I’m fond of dancing myself. Good way to learn about someone, and foster a bit of trust, don’t you think?”

She opened her mouth, stopped, brows knit in thought for a moment. Then: “...Are you asking me to dance?”

He smirked. “I admit I’m unfamiliar, but the demonstration has been...notable,” he said, giving the dancing girl in the square an exaggerated look-over. He did not miss Aeryn rolling her own eyes in response. “And with a knowledgeable partner taking the lead, I’m sure to find my footing quickly.”

She looked at the square again, at the minstrels and the dancer, and for a moment, she seemed almost willing. But then she shook her head, stepping back. 

“It can’t be any harder than facing those paragons and their dark minions,” he said, quieter now. “And I see how your feet are itching to join. You’ve been swaying to the music this entire time.”

She blinked at him for a moment, eyes wide in surprise, stiffening as she realized how much her body language was giving away.

Thancred shrugged in good-natured defeat. “You don’t have to, of course; I simply thought I’d make the offer.”

“Maybe another time,” she blurted before turning and walking swiftly away from the square toward the Waking Sands.

He watched her go, sighing a little; he had hoped to convince her. It would have been an excellent way to gauge her outside of combat, when he was too often busy watching his own neck.

Ah well; in the meantime, the demonstrating dancer was trying rather blatantly to catch his eye as the song came to an end. He could worry about taking his new colleague’s measure on the morrow, as they journeyed to Drybone.

Perhaps once they returned he would find a way to convince Aeryn to dance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merriam-Webster: Sway: to swing slowly and rhythmically back and forth from a base or pivot; to move gently from an upright to a leaning position; to fluctuate or veer between one point, position, or opinion and another; to cause to turn aside : deflect, divert.


	4. Muster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> End of Stormblood 4.0: The morning after "[Make it Better](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25417882/chapters/61857331)" sees the Alliance prepare to liberate Ala Mhigo; Aeryn just wishes there was more time before facing what she must.

The sky through the tiny, single window was bright enough that she ought to be worried about oversleeping. Outside the sounds of camp were dull and distant, but it was still hard to ignore the calls of officers and answering platoons.

She was warm and comfortable and safe here, even if there was barely any space. If she didn’t move, she could pretend she was still sleeping and the day unstarted.

Thancred very carefully placed a hand on her arm. “I ought to go, before ruining your sterling reputation.” The words were teasing, but his tone was already too tense as the coming battle cast a pall over the morning.

Of course he knew she was awake. Aeryn sighed as he rose to retrieve his vest, gloves, boots, and weapons. With him up she now had the room to roll onto her back away from the wall, the narrow officer’s cot barely large enough for one of them, let alone both.

“Thank you for staying,” she said quietly. He had simply been there, at her back; it had been enough to keep her dreams more or less settled--or at least not disturbed enough to remember now, as the dawn’s light filtered into the window along with the faint sound of the Alliance troops calling their rolls in preparation.

He paused and smiled, mismatched eyes gentle before he picked up his bandana. “Of course.” He looked away again. “And when the day is done, we’ll properly talk about...things.”

“So eloquent this morning,” she said dryly. “You’d best get some coffee, wake up that silver tongue.” She grinned as he snorted in amused indignation; it was a running Scion joke Thancred could do naught but communicate in growls before his morning cup of Momodi’s strong Ul’dahn blend, his penchant for late nights leading to bleary mornings. “When the day is done,” she repeated.

They were both still for a moment, not willing to make it a promise. Not willing yet to put a name on what little they had admitted so far on the hill over the Castrum, overlooking the city they were assaulting--liberating--today.

Anything could go wrong.

He tied on his bandana, brushing his long bangs from his face as he watched her. “I’ll leave you to your own preparations then,” he said, hesitating as she sat up and nodded to him. He gave her a soft smile before slipping out the door, the latch clicking shut behind him.

Aeryn hugged her knees. That had been...nice, to admit to wanting his company, to simply being held, to having him there. Any other day, she might have felt nervous, perhaps even giddy, over what exactly was happening between them after so long.

But Ala Mhigo loomed to the east, and the helmed figure in the palace waited for her, demanding.

It was tempting to remain in the room, lock the door and hide under the covers. She did not like this, waking with the intent to go into battle. It felt...different from other confrontations in the past, even the ones she had known were inevitable.

She mustered her own resolve and put her feet on the ground. That was a start.

She just had to get through the day. She owed someone a talk later, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merriam-Webster: Muster: an act of assembling specifically; formal military inspection. to cause to gather; convene. to call forth; rouse. to amount to; comprise.


	5. Clinch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post Shadowbringers 5.0: Aeryn learns to fish after the Hades battle.

Frithik watched and tried not to chuckle as Aeryn attempted to figure out the knot he had shown her. “You’re making a common error,” he said after the third time she lost a hook.

She sighed. “I’m usually quick to learn things,” she apologized.

“For a proper clinch knot, you need to hold the hook and main line when pulling taunt after wetting it,” he said. “Holding the tag end won’t do it.”

Aeryn tried again, pleased at the knot that resulted. Frithik nodded in approval, and watched her cast her line.

“You’ve got it this time,” he said, setting his own bait and casting his line. They waited in companionable silence, water lapping at the base of the dock while insects buzzed. The day was warm if overcast; with luck there would be rain, bringing more fish near the surface.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Frithik eventually said after a few moments, slowly letting out his reel. “I don’t mind teaching the Warrior of Darkness herself how to fish, but what brought on the sudden interest?”

She didn’t answer for a time, looking out over the expanse of water so ironically named the Source. Bismarck dozed in the distance, the trees on his back blotches of shifting color.

How to explain that she had spent the last couple moons talking with a ghost, who had spoken with her not only about her worries of Lightwardens and Ascians, but about...everything else? About friendships, about choboos and amaro, about daring risks and missed opportunities? About hopes, and fears? About the hobbies that filled what precious little free time they had and kept them sane when the world seemed determined to tear its heroes apart body and soul--literally?

* * *

Ardbert had grown up on an island, large enough for a village, farming, and some trade. Fishing had been one of his fondest hobbies.

“I used to look out over the water and dream of what lay beyond the horizon line. One day I’d go beyond it, see the world that existed across the waves.” He chuckled in that ironic, self-deprecating way of his. “I did that and more, with my friends. Even got to visit your world for a bit. Should have taken time to cast a few lines while I was there; woulda been something.”

“If I’m going to sit for so long, I feel I ought to be reading, or writing, or painting, or...just..anything.”

“Well you aren’t just sitting still,” he countered. “After picking the right bait, and setting the line, you’re minding it, watching and waiting, and when you feel that tug on the line, it becomes a bit of a contest; not just who’s strongest, but who can be more wily.”

Aeryn gave him a skeptical look. Ardbert grinned back. “You’d be surprised. Fish can be smarter than you think. Besides, sometimes you just gotta...clear your mind. Be still. Let your eyes and thoughts wander while your hands do the work, until you get that tug. Even a smarty-pants mage like you has to let the brain rest.”

“So how well did Nyelbert take to fishing?”

An exaggerated, unnecessary sigh. “Oh he didn’t, the pompous arse.”

They laughed, his tinged with the old grief he could never seem to shake.

* * *

Ever since returning from the depths of the Tempest--ever since Ardbert had given himself to save her, his presence a constant, comforting warmth suffusing her head to toe--she had found herself drawn to the water, staring at the distant horizon line, mind wishing to relax from the myriad spinning ideas she normally fostered, hands twitching.

On her latest trip to the Crystalline Mean to deliver some medicines for Bethric she had lingered afterwards at the Facet of Fishing, until Frithik had noticed her hovering. When he asked if she needed anything, her hastily blurted request to learn how to fish had come out of nowhere, a surprise to them both.

Or _had_ it come out of nowhere? _Was_ it a surprise?

Her line jerked, and Aeryn began to turn the reel.

“Easy!” Frithik encouraged. “Easy now...almost...let it out a little bit...there you go...now back in...careful…careful...Aha!”

A flopping mackerel slapped at her arm as Aeryn grabbed it, and with Frithik’s help the fish was removed from the hook and tossed in the ice box. “Good work!” He practically purred. “You’re a natural.”

Aeryn shrugged sheepishly. “I have a good teacher.”

And a little help besides, always.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((Ardbert's love of fishing comes from the first lorebook, which I remembered reading by chance after I had started learning crafting/gathering with Ishgard Restoration.
> 
> A "clinch knot" is often used in fishing, as well as having other less savory uses.))


	6. Matter of Fact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post 5.3 Shadowbringers: C'oretta and Iyna discuss the Scions' return, particularly the newest member of the Order and the changes he's undergone.

“I’m just really not sure what to think,” C’oretta said, chin on her hands, elbows on the table as she gazed out over the for-once sunny skies of Mor Dhona.

Iyna continued to read, leaning back in her chair and glad of the sunglasses she’d acquired to protect against the glare. They also mostly hid the fact she was already rolling her eyes, knowing the topic the Seeker was starting in on.

“I mean,” C’oretta continued. “I _liked_ G’raha well enough when we first explored the Crystal Tower. He was fun! Eager to prove himself but that’s like just a thing with a lot of young Tias honestly and new adventurers besides.”

Behind the shaded lenses, Iyna flicked a glance at her young table companion, but declined to respond to that particular bait. She returned her eyes to the page to try to find where she had just left off.

“But now he’s back and awake and like merged with his older self? I mean Aeryn’s had a lot of _weird_ adventures and I’ve been along on many of them but hearing everything about the First is just _wild_. G’raha as some sort of half-crystal city leader is not something I _ever_ imagined.”

Iyna refrained from making even a non-committal grunt as she turned the page.

“And now he’s...he’s different. Still super eager even giddy. Kinda sad he doesn’t use a bow anymore I mean archer arms are just _mmph_.” C’oretta’s hands dropped to the table and she sighed. “And he’s all moon-eyed over Aeryn which is the _silliest_ thing ever. I mean all right yeah she’s the Warrior of Light and a big hero and all but also so _oblivious_ to all that and I’m still not really sure how Thancred managed to finally get her attention but now she’s not going to look anywhere else and can anyone blame her? Also I _told_ you he's super hot.”

Iyna lifted her tea cup and took a sip. Then another; it was no longer piping hot, best not to waste it. She thought of responding to the assessment of the archon’s aesthetic appeal, but in the end maintained her silence.

“Anyroad I just dunno if I wanna try to see if G’raha’s still interested as I’m pretty sure he _isn’t_ and after everything we heard about what he did as the Crystal Exarch anyway I dunno maybe I’ll just have to wait and see if I like this _new_ G’raha cute or not.”

C’oretta picked up her own teacup and took a gulp. At which point, Iyna deadpanned, “Then perhaps I shall see if I can lure him to bed instead.”

C’oretta choked, spitting some of the tea across the table, the splatters falling far short of Iyna. The viera smirked and turned another page.

“Iyna!”

“What?” She remained as offhand as possible.

“...I didn’t even think you _like_ men to be honest.”

“They have their uses,” Iyna replied. “Though mostly only in the bedroom, and only after some training. And if G’raha is merged with his elder self, he may be the only Scion man of passable maturity to pique my interest. Once he’s over the giddiness of his return, that is.” She lowered her head enough to peer at C’oretta over the rim of her shades. “But I doubt it.”

C’oretta peered back, blue eyes narrow. “You’re teasing me.”

Iyna headtilted, then turned back to her book. “No idea what you mean, kitten.”

“ _Ugh_. Actually I’m gonna go meet up with Sophie and Arya they’re going on a venture for tomestones--Sophie calls them stonetomes isn’t that the most _adorable_ thing I can't bring myself to correct her--and I’m just gonna pretend this conversation didn’t happen so don’t wait up for us all right?”

“I won’t,” Iyna replied. “You’re big girls, and Radovan’ll be fussed enough if you’re out too late, so don’t be.” She took another sip of her tea.

She could see C’oretta’s exaggerated eyeroll. “All right _Mom_. C’mon Violet!” the girl said, before dashing from the balcony to the stairs leading from the cafe to ground level, Violet waking from her nap under the table to squeal and clamber along after.

Iyna sighed and sipped more tea. Finally, a bit of quiet to finish her book.


	7. Nonagenarian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shadowbringers: Master Matoya has Opinions. So does Y'mhitra. Thancred's style choices are caught in the middle (as are Krile and Aenor).

“So how old _is_ she really?” Aenor asked in a low whisper, certain it would only reach the miqo’te’s ears.

Y'mhitra shrugged and responded in a similar low whisper. “She was old when we were young and my sister sent to study with her. Maybe older than Master Louisoix? I’m sure someone on the Forum knows—”

“But _they_ know what’s good for them, unlike _some_ young women,” Matoya declared, glowering at them both.

Aenor’s eyes went wide, while Y’mhitra only stared evenly back, though her flicking tail betrayed her own nervousness, dammit. “Simply answering a question, Master Matoya,” she said, attempting to channel her elder sister’s calm.

Were Y’shtola awake, she would best know how to handle her mentor. But the Scion archons slumbered, each given a bed in the Dawn’s Respite infirmary. Master Louisoix’s grandchildren slept alongside them, all awaiting the success of the Warrior of Light’s foray to the First shard of Hydaelyn to retrieve their wandering souls.

Honestly how had the crone even heard them? Her hearing wasn’t _that_ good. Perhaps some sort of spell, Y’mhitra thought. That, or voices carried better than she thought in the stone halls of the Scions’ headquarters.

“Hmph. As if I drug myself all the way here to put up with such speculative nonsense.” Matoya shuffled next to Thancred’s bed and peered at the man. “Well, he seems stable--for now,” she told Krile, obediently at her side and taking notes. The lalafell’s usual fiery responses were dampened next to the elder Sharlayan, Krile naught but respectful. How she managed it was a feat in itself. “The longer this takes, the more likely their aether is to destabilize, and _this_ one we shall have to watch most closely.”

“Due to his aetheric sensitivity?” Krile asked.

“That, and it being the reason he was taken first. It’ll be a barometer for how long we have before the others show similar issues.” She cast a glance toward Y’shtola’s sleeping form, eyes briefly meeting Y’mhitra’s as she stood by her sister’s bed. There was a moment of near-softness in the old woman’s still-sharp gaze, their mutual love for Y’shtola the only bond they shared. An eyeblink, and the moment was lost as Matoya turned back to Thancred. “One more thing, about this one.”

Krile looked up, concern flitting across her features. “What is it, Master Matoya?”

“Bring me a comb, a straight razor, and shaving cream.”

The other three (awake) women in the room blinked.

“Master…?” Aenor began.

Matoya rounded on her, the price for speaking up. “You heard me! He has let himself go for far too long! I was willing to concede to it after what happened in the Antitower, but this is getting ridiculous, and gods know the man can’t grow a proper beard to begin with, it looks wretched without care. Now go!”

Aenor dashed off, as if commanded by a whip crack. Which Matoya’s voice had been compared to more than once, often by Y’shtola herself.

“Master Matoya,” Y’mhitra began diplomatically. “While keeping our friends groomed whilst they’re...gone, is important, shaving a man’s beard for him—”

“Going to cut his hair, too, just watch me,” the old woman snapped. “Honestly not sure how he sees through those bangs. And that...braid? Looks like a rat’s tail to me. What happened to the fellow’s vanity? Bah!”

Krile simply looked helplessly at Y’mhitra, mouth open but silent in surprise. Y’mhitra sighed and shrugged. “As you say, Master.” She made for the door. “As entertaining a spectacle as I’m sure this shall be, I must meet the Flames' summoner squad for lessons.” She couldn’t help but pause at the door, a moment of recklessness overtaking her. “Which shall be far more entertaining than continuing to listen to a nonagenarian rant.”

She rushed out, hearing Matoya’s sharp call of her name, but best to ignore it. Let Krile deal with her grumbling over the Rhul sisters’ lack of grace and respect; _someone_ had to fluster the old woman while Y’shtola was away.

_Come home soon, Sister--and hopefully Thancred won’t mind the change!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merriam-Webster: Nonagenarian: a person whose age is in the nineties.
> 
> If Matoya is or not, I doubt we shall ever know.


	8. Clamor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> End A Realm Reborn 2.0: The celebration of the defeat of Ultima Weapon and the advent of the Seventh Astral Era is overwhelming for those who were in the center of events.

There was just so much _noise_.

Soldiers talking and laughing, the Scions conversing with the trio of Company leaders, the Ironworks crew setting up fireworks for when the sun sank beyond Silvertear’s western shore.

And Aeryn was stuck in the middle of all of it.

Someone had put a drink in her hand, the Maelstrom mess tents doling out beverages and food freely. She was certain at this point that she had been approached by every officer in each Company, all of them gushing about the battles and her defeating Baelsar and his infernal machine while surviving the devastation of Meridianum, whilst saving her comrade yet.

Aeryn mostly nodded, shrugged, and said as little as possible, as was her wont. She had told Minfilia, the other Scions, and the leaders the details, falling into a similar storyteller mode as the old bard Jehantel when he was reminiscing about difficult things. It was easiest that way, to tell them of the battle against the Ultima Weapon, Hydaelyn’s intervention, Lahabrea’s defeat…

The sounds of the crowd merged together, a cacophonous background sound as her temples throbbed. A voice called to her--but that wasn’t her name. She couldn’t quite hear it properly, as the now-familiar pull of the Echo clutched at her. The impression of the voice, of the name it spoke, was familiar enough that it could have, should have been recognizable to her but it wasn’t why was—

_It was not Hydaelyn calling to her._

The darkened Crystal filled her vision, His voice hammering her ears, reverberating along her pulse, calling to her by a name she did not recognize but _knew_ was her own if only she could comprehend, could _hear_ Him, but the rush of primal sound was too much and she pushed away as His susurrant call tried to pull her closer…

“Aeryn!”

Her head jerked up, blinking away the bright sunlight reflecting off the rocky ground and smooth lake waters. Somewhere to her left was a raucous burst of laughter and she jumped again.

“Are you all right?”

A hand on her elbow. She looked to her right finally and tried not to recoil from Thancred’s concerned expression.

Part of her still expected the Ascian.

The pained flash in his brown eyes--he’d noted her aborted flinch anyway--was quickly masked by his ever-charming smile. “Forgive my intrusion,” he said, dropping his hand from her arm. “But you look as overwhelmed as I feel.”

Aeryn nodded, and took a swallow of her drink. She had been nursing it for quite some time, and it had grown warm and bitter as she neared the dregs. She grimaced and poured the remainder out while Thancred chuckled.

“Judging by that face, you’re quite finished with the party,” he said. “Care for an excuse to leave?”

“Please,” she managed to say, meeting his eyes with no reservation this time.

“Well then. Now that the main event is over, I have been ordered by the Elder Seedseer herself to return to my rest. I’ll miss the Ironworks’ pyrotechnic display; it’s really quite unfair.” He sighed and shrugged expansively. “However, if you’d like to escort me back to our tents to ensure that I do as I am told, I’m sure no one will begrudge you that.” He grinned conspiratorially.

Aeryn nodded again, and after a moment’s thought, offered an arm. Thancred laughed, taking it--though as they made their way through the crowd, it was hard to say who was supporting who; she still felt far more out of sorts than at any moment since finally escaping the burning Praetorium and collapsing into sleep soon after, surrounded by the Scions as they awaited Thancred’s own waking...

“It shouldn’t be any wonder you’re tired,” he said conversationally, once the worst of the noise was behind them. The Company camps formed a colorful little village in this meadow of ruined Mor Dhona, the Scions’ own small cluster of tents nearly swallowed in a space between the Flames and the Adders, though they had to wend past some of the invited Free Companies to get there. “You’ve been through much and more this past...while.” He paused. “I’m sorry.”

She gave him one of her questioning looks. He glanced at her from the side of his eye, then sighed. “For...everything that happened, it’s all my own fault—”

“I almost killed you,” she blurted, squeezing his arm. “I thought I might have to, because of—” she shook her head. “That was _all_ Lahabrea. Not you.” She frowned and looked away. “I should have realized it wasn’t you sooner.”

He barked out a laugh. “My dear, even my oldest, closest comrades didn’t realize I wasn’t myself!” The bitterness and barely suppressed anger were not hard to miss, even without the sensitivity of her Echo. He covered his feelings with a smile again and patted her hand. “You barely know me in comparison; in all honesty, you couldn’t be expected to notice.”

“You’d think this Echo would be more useful for that,” Aeryn said. “But it seems...sporadic.”

“So I’ve heard,” he said wryly. “Minfilia has shared her own frustrations with me a few times. So I’m no stranger to hearing about it--if needed.”

“...Maybe,” she replied. Then said, “I’m sorry.”

“For?” He stopped. It took her a moment to realize they had made it to the Scion camp.

“For the almost-killing you part,” she said, looking down at his sandals.

Thancred cautiously tucked a single knuckle under her chin, making her look back up. “I could say the same to you,” he said in that quiet, sincere voice he seemed to save for special occasions, his eyes steadily watching her. “So let us call it even, shall we?”

She frowned; it wasn’t even, not nearly--he hadn’t been in control, a pawn of that monster. But she met his gaze and nodded anyway.

He dropped his hand again and gestured around, his gregarious persona returning just as quickly as it had been shed. “Now I believe I am, in fact, going to find my cot and drop into it for the evening--brief as my foray back into society was, I am _exhausted_.”

Aeryn was about to say goodbye--but the memory of the dark Crystal blinked across her vision, the impression of words she couldn’t quite comprehend throbbing in her heart.

As if He were waiting for her to be alone, to call to her again.

“I’d best make sure you behave,” she found herself saying, noting his eyebrow arching. “I want to do some writing in any case; that shouldn’t bother you while resting.”

“No. Despite my weariness, however, I might not fall asleep right away and shall likely be the one distracting you.”

Aeryn shrugged. “A risk I shall have to take. Though if it comes to it,” she grinned. “I _do_ know a sleep spell now.”

He blinked, and then laughed. “You _have_ been busy while I was...indisposed. Very well, my lady; let us see this fiction to completion then, and both take our rest away from the crowds.”

She was reminded of that sandstorm on the way to Drybone, and the shelter they had taken; it seemed so long ago now, since they had conversed without pretense or expectation that night. Instead of the roar of sand and wind, it was the celebratory crowd they shut out, finding a moment of companionable peace after all they had been through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merriam-Webster: Clamor: noisy shouting; a loud continuous noise; insistent public expression (as of support or protest); to make a din; to become loudly insistent; to utter or proclaim insistently and noisily; to influence by means of clamor.


	9. Lush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Late Stormblood, 4.4-4.5: Dark Autumn decides Aeryn needs to rest, and they just happen to be near Dark's childhood home at the time.
> 
> Some mention of body weight and image in the first half.

Aeryn woke surrounded by thick blankets and heavy pillows, on a bed far larger than any she had ever slept in before. She was warm and it felt indulgent to just stay among the downy comfort—especially since she wasn’t sure she could get out of the feather bed without aid.

In the next room she heard voices, and tried to focus on what they were saying.

“You’ve said many things about the Warrior of Light,” Singing Willow was saying. “None of that included the girl being naught more than skin and bones.”

“She’s a midlander, Mother,” Dark Autumn evenly replied, her smoky voice almost too low to hear. “They don’t grow as broad as we do to begin with.”

“I’ve seen more meat on the refugees that stumble through,” the older woman countered. The sound of the oven banging closed punctuated her words. “At the very least while she’s a guest in my house, she’ll eat properly.”

“As you say, Mother,” Dark said in resigned amusement.

Aeryn let her attention drift again, the roegadyns’ voices fading into the background. She stuck her arms into the air overhead. She had been run a bit ragged lately, but she had plenty of lean muscle along her limbs and frame. She was, however, lacking a decent amount of body fat for extra energy and warmth.

She had always been a bit underweight, honestly; a problem since her childhood that she had never quite outgrown despite her family’s best efforts. Putting on muscle was just about the only way she had been able to achieve a healthy weight. Mayhap someday her overactive metabolism would settle in and she would put on a few ponzes.

It would probably help too if she wasn’t always bouncing hither and yon with too little sleep and what bites of food she could snag as adventures and duties took her across the realm to the Far East and back again.

Though now she had to stay as close to home as she could. Alisaie needed her.

Aeryn struggled to at least sit up in the midst of the thick bedding; Singing Willow and Iron Summer did not skimp on their guest accommodations. Apparently the room had belonged to one of their numerous children once, but with everyone grown and spread across the realm, many of the rooms in the rambling house had been granted other purposes, or only opened during holidays when relatives came to visit.

The sun was coming in, gold light filtered through leaves. The window was surrounded by a trellis, lush foliage framing the pane, pink and white flowers waving in the breeze from amidst the leaves. Beyond were the gardens taking up most of the yard, various vegetables and fruits grown in sections and rows that Dark said were rotated each year, one bed each season left fallow and covered in mulch. Past the gardens rows of fruit trees and bushes lined the property’s boundaries before merging with the forest.

It must have been a lovely place to grow up.

Breakfast scents were coming from the kitchen, and Iron’s bone-deep chuckles joined his wife and daughter’s voices. One of them was going to come to rouse her soon, but for the moment, Aeryn remained in the bed, arms wrapped around her drawn-up knees, and privately conceded that perhaps Dark had been right to drag her here after their last failed errand to find a cure for the archons’ mysterious condition.

Maybe they should have brought Alisaie, too. Perhaps next time. As it was, Aeryn mostly felt guilty for letting Dark bring her here while Aeryn was too exhausted to argue, to take advantage of Dark’s parents’ hospitality and make the Warrior of Light get a good night’s rest.

And apparently a roegadyn-sized breakfast, as Singing Willow knocked on the wall between the guest room and the kitchen, calling for Aeryn as if rousing one of her own children.

Aeryn stretched and in the end, rolled to the edge of the bed to get out and onto the floor. A moment’s rest to make Dark happy before returning to the increasingly fruitless search to find a cure for their friends’ condition--and maybe stop that voice Calling them for good.

But breakfast first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merriam-Webster: Lush: growing vigorously especially with luxuriant foliage lush grass; lavishly productive, such as fertile lush farmland; characterized by abundance; savory, delicious; appealing to the senses; opulent, sumptuous.


	10. Avail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post Shadowbringers 5.3: C'oretta being C'oretta, Violet being Violet, and Thancred getting a headache.

“Tears will not avail you here, young lady,” Thancred said, arms crossed.

C’oretta sighed. “It was worth a shot you were always a sucker for a crying girl _before_.”

Thancred’s eye twitched and he shook his head before continuing. “Do you have any idea the trouble you’ve caused?”

“ _Technically_ it was Violet who caused the-- _All right_ can you stop glowering Thal’s sake you used to be _fun_.”

“Rowena is baying for blood and your little pet is in the midst of the mess,” he replied evenly. “Do you have the gil to pay back the damages?”

“N-noooo but I can probably work it off—”

“Do _not_ make that deal,” Thancred said, tone still clipped. “You know you’ll never stop paying it off, not with her.”

“So what do you want me to do?!” C’oretta waved her hands in exasperation.

His right arm extended from under his left to hand her a tomestone. C’oretta squinted but took it as he spoke again. “ _I_ shall speak to Rowena on your behalf as an associate Scion, while _you_ go perform a limited series of errands--some quite dangerous, mind--to mollify our Mistress of Markets.”

“This will have me outta town for at least a sennight,” C’oretta said, looking over the list on the tome’s faintly glowing panel.

“Yes, shame that,” Thancred mused. “Be sure to take Violet with you, please.”

C’oretta looked up at him again, wide-eyed. “But Thancred you just said some of these missions are super dangerous!”

He looked back down at her, his eye twitching again.

She blinked her big blue eyes and clasped her hands under her chin. “You cannot _honestly_ expect me to take my _poor helpless baby_ piggy into dangerous ruins and against horrible monsters can you?!”

Thancred looked down at said “piggy” who glowered back up at him with a sort of ruthless intelligence. Violet did not like it when her mummy was upset, and would remember this later, he knew. He still wasn’t certain how the girl didn’t realize Violet was an _infant behemoth_ and would quite likely be safer than C’oretta herself. Still; he really couldn’t handle her looking at him like that for too long.

He turned back to the miqo’te. “I suppose normally I would not, but—”

“Great then you can look after her and keep her out of more trouble while I’m gone thanks,” She dipped down to ruffle the critter’s mane.

“Now hold on—”

“Violet stay with Uncle Thancred until Mummy gets back and behave all right I love you,” she bounced back to her feet. “I’ll get on this right away thanks Thancred you’re the _best_ byeeee~!”

“C’oretta—!”

She had already dashed off to the chocobo porters, leaving him gawking awkwardly in the little yard outside the Seventh Heaven.

Behind him, Thancred heard a barely suppressed snicker. Without looking, he lifted a finger in the air. “Not a word.”

“Mm-hm,” Aeryn responded.

“Waters!” Rowena screeched as she stalked across the aetheryte plaza, C’oretta already riding out of town on the fastest chocobo she could get her little hands on.

Thancred breathed out heavily before turning to greet Rowena with his most charming smile, highly aware of Violet hiding behind his legs.

A full forty-five minutes later, Rowena swanned off back to the Splendors, somewhat mollified after his best diplomacy and confident she had gotten the better part of the deal (she may have also been correct on that count). Thancred sighed long-sufferingly before turning to Aeryn, still leaning against the stone wall of the Seventh Heaven, Violet waiting primly next to her feet.

“You could have warned me Rowena was coming.”

Aeryn affected an innocent look. “You said ‘not a word.’”

“You know what I—” He sighed again, rubbing his forehead as she giggled. “Radovan wanted to do some training to see what I learned on the First. I’m going to meet him. I’ll see you at supper.”

“See you later,” Aeryn called after him, watching Violet obediently bounce along in his wake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merriam-Webster: Avail: to be of use or advantage, serve; to produce or result in as a benefit or advantage, gain; to make use of; to take advantage of; advantage toward attainment of a goal or purpose; use.
> 
> C'oretta regularly misses the fact Violet is a baby behemoth. Even when said baby behemoth is dropping pebbles on peoples' heads (she's too little for a full Meteor yet).


	11. Ultracrepidarian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometime during Shadowbringers: Arenvald and Dark Autumn go to La Noscea to investigate Titan and rumors of someone who survived encountering the primal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _  
> **Or Rather, the Consequences of Being One**  
>  _

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Dark said as they waited in the common room of the inn. Outside, a rainstorm had blown in off the ocean. There was such a difference in how the rain felt and smelled in the wild meadows of La Noscea than in the tangled trees of the Twelveswood.

“Could be worse,” Arenvald said. “We could be out there.” He gestured to the window, then covered his mouth to yawn.

“You’re not getting enough sleep,” Dark said.

“Well we gotta fill in for our friend while she’s off to a whole other world, don’t we?” Arenvald said. “It’s not so bad, and this time it’s my own fault, I was up too late with Fordola.”

Dark raised a brow and took a long, slow sip of her drink while watching him. It took a moment for Arenvald to realize what he had just said, cheeks instantly reddening. “Talking! We were talking!” He hastily amended. He sighed as Dark chuckled. “Honestly, it’s...some progress. She only insulted me _half_ the time.”

“That _is_ something,” Dark noted, looking toward the door to the private rooms as the innkeep returned, helping a large man down the stairs due to obvious injuries covering much of his body; one arm in a sling, a leg in a cast, bandages around his bared torso and unbroken limbs.

“Here he is, the man who fought Titan, sustaining injuries most grievous in the process,” the old innkeeper said.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Dark said flatly, standing quickly.

Arenvald and the innkeep both blinked as the roegadyn man suddenly recoiled, pulling away from the innkeeper’s steadying hand--and ending up falling against the wall. “Ah, bugger and shite, you—!”

“Trachtoum,” Dark rubbed her forehead as the man flailed and ended up on his arse on the floor. “How did you _actually_ obtain those injuries?” She lowered her hand, her face hardening into a scowl as she loomed forward. “And you damn well better tell the truth. _We’ll know_.”

Arenvald looked between the two roegadyn. A moment later the big man on the floor was blubbering. “I didn’t mean nuthin’ by it, I swear! I just needed a place to stay and heal up, y’ain’t begrudge a man that, c’mon Dark—”

She reached down and grabbed a handful of hair, shaking him. “Got drunk and stumbled down a cliff, did you? Because I _know_ you didn’t fight a primal!”

“Course I didn’t fight Tidus! Ye know I ain’t--Gods, y’ain’t gonna tell _her_ , are ya? She’ll fry me!”

“She’d do no such thing and you know it,” Dark said shortly, letting him go, his head bouncing back against the wall. “This one’s no primal slayer, just a talespinner--and a poor one at that.” She handed some gil over to the stunned innkeep. “To make up for the tomfoolery and the room he’s bilked you out of. Once he’s healed, feel free to send him packing.”

“Aww, Dark, don’t be like that; c’mon, I do got a lead on a feller from th’ Company who—”

“Trachtoum, I swear before the Twelve I will break every other bone in your body if you say another word,” Dark said, voice still flatly even.

Trachtoum shut his mouth so quickly that Arenvald heard his jaw click.

Dark turned back to Arenvald with a heavy sigh. “Sorry for dragging you out here; this was a bust. Looks like we’re investigating the Lord of Crags the old fashioned way.”

Arenvald shrugged. “Worth a shot, at least.” He spared one more glance at the miserable man on the floor and the bemused innkeep before following Dark out of the inn. “So, uh, that fellow…?”

“As I said: a poor storyteller and farmhand who wishes for others to think him a hero for the benefits he thinks it shall grant him. We’ve run into him before. One would think he’d learn. He even got Aeryn to lose her temper and--well, there’s reasons he should know better.”

Arenvald cringed at the thought as they crossed the rain-swept meadows to meet their colleagues and form another plan for handling Titan’s possible re-emergence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merriam-Webster: Ultracrepidarian: Definition: one who is presumptuous and offers advice or opinions beyond one’s sphere of knowledge. The meaning of this word comes from a story in antiquity, in which the famed Greek painter Apelles one day heard a cobbler criticizing the way he had rendered a foot in a painting. Apelles then said to the shoemaker something very cutting and witty about how he shouldn’t presume to judge beyond his station. The exact remark has, unfortunately, been lost in time, but since the Latin phrase ultra crepidam means “beyond the sole,” we may imagine that Appeles used this, or something similar, in his rebuke. Hence, an ultracrepidarian is one who, as a shoemaker might, goes “beyond the sole,” and offers advice on matters they perhaps should leave alone.


	12. Tooth and Nail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Seventh Umbral Calamity from Zaine Striker's point of view as the 1.0 Warrior of Light.

It hadn’t mattered. None of it.

Zaine let his axe drop to the side as the dragon roared and fire fell from the sky along with the broken pieces of the Allagan construct they had always thought a moon.

He and his friends had traveled across Eorzea and back, growing in strength and reputation as adventurers. People had started to call them heroes.

Maybe it had just gone to his head.

He had fought and fought, so hard, through everything. He had even fought Nael van Darnus, cast down the Legatus–and it wasn’t enough.

_ Why not?! _ Hadn’t he done  _ everything _ asked of him,  _ everything _ to stop this–but the moon fell and cracked like an egg and now a primal screamed over the land, it’s trajectory aiming right back at the battlefield, at his allies, at his friends.

Light burst across his vision, cool and blue in contrast to the flames surrounding them. Louisoix’s spell protected Zaine and his friends, before turning attention back to the beast descending on the field, perhaps sensing the old archon’s intent.

Zaine added his prayers to the others; there was nothing else he could do.

_ Please let this work it has to work please we can still stop this… _

His heart swelled; it  _ was _ working! Bahamut was encased in the Light of the Twelve, their sigils gleaming across the solidifying sphere—-

It burst. The dragon roared. Fire fell.

Zaine screamed his rage, tears hot on his cheeks.

_ We did everything right! Everything we were supposed to! And still it came to this! _

From a distance he heard Louisoix’s strong voice casting another spell. Zaine felt the pull of the aether, the symbol of Althyk flashing briefly across his vision.

_ Nonono please no I can still help—! _

But the battle was over, despite their efforts.

They had lost.

* * *

Years later, when the realm remembered again, they would say that the Warrior of Light had fought tooth and nail for Eorzea, but had fallen in the flames of the Seventh Umbral Calamity.

They then prayed that his sister, the new Warrior of Light, continued to keep the realm safe and the darkness of those days at bay as she took up the fight, even fiercer than he had been–as if she had much to make up for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merriam-Webster: Tooth and Nail: with every available means; All out.
> 
> I keep coming back to Zaine and the Calamity, perhaps someday I'll properly write it out into a story. I never played FFXIV 1.x, which is why in my fics he took part in those events and Aeryn came after.


	13. Part

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heavensward 3.4 through Shadowbringers 5.3: Thancred, Minfilia, Ryne, and separations.

“Sometimes I forget you are not the child I once knew. Make me proud.”

Gods, it hurt to see her again. To know she was still somehow herself after all.

And that she would be leaving him regardless.

She could save a world, and he would never dream of stopping her. He could never say the words, not aloud, but she knew his heart better than any other and could say them for him.

“Your kindness, your compassion, your love...These are your gifts to me, and our gifts to them, forming a bond which transcends time and space.”

The Thanalan sun beat down on the group of Scions, still reeling from what they had experienced, but he felt heavy. Weighted to the earth while she soared.

He volunteered to see to the Amalj’aa’s crystals. Alphinaud began to protest but this was something he had to do, to act and work and not punch Urianger in the jaw and not break down in front of his comrades and just do _something_.

The Amalj’aa had been left in more disarray than he had dared hope, and retrieving the remaining crystal stores was not a difficult task.

He somehow found himself before the mark of Azeyma, overlooking the Burning Wall.

His fist slammed into the stone, knuckles splitting under his glove, not stinging nearly as much as it ought to. He dropped to his knees, wondering how he could feel so numb and yet ready to burst from too much emotion all at once.

He still did not allow himself to break; he couldn’t. Wouldn’t. He would forgive Urianger--gods knew the man was probably beating himself up enough. And he would move on with his life, as she had asked.

He could never deny her anything.

* * *

“Tell me, tell me! what I must do to bring you back!?”

He begged and pleaded under the sweltering Eternal Light looming over Naabeth Areng, where she had stopped the Flood from fully consuming the world.

Her voice, sad yet firm, coming from the meek child he had drug out of Eulmore, told him what she wanted.

She had always had so much resolve. Enough to make him feel weak-willed when next to her.

“What...what happened?” The girl blinked her sapphire eyes, looking crumpled in on herself in her uncertainty and inexperience, compared to the way her elder had stood in the same body.

She had asked him to look after this girl. To teach her, to protect her, as he had done before so long ago.

He didn’t want this responsibility, didn’t want to influence such an important choice in so sweet, so fragile a child.

But he could never deny her anything.

* * *

Where was she?!

His chest constricted, caging his loudly beating heart as he tore through the woods, following the trail she had left.

He came across a scene more trampled than one adolescent girl could make by herself and let out a string of go-to curses learned in his own childhood on the docks. Another half malm of more careful--barely--tracking later, and his worst fears were confirmed:

Eulmore had her.

Three years he had kept her safe, and now, _now_ when the night sky finally graced Lakeland and what that had to mean, _now_ they had her.

If they took her back to the city, he would never see her again.

He pushed down the panic, the guilt of having failed once more.

He didn’t know why she had left, though he could guess, looking up and feeling the cool night wind. Gods, it had been so long; five years under unending Light, and he had almost forgotten the stars.

It wasn’t entirely surprising how the constellations were the same.

The tower gleamed, a dagger of blue crystal piercing the dark sky. He had to speak with the Exarch, learn the current plan.

Three years and she had decided _now_ she would have a moment of rebellion. He ran a hand down his face. All she had to do was ask, didn’t she know that by now?

It wasn’t as if he could truly deny her anything.

* * *

“I’ll not have you waste that newfound resolve on me,” he insisted. “I leave her in your care.”

It was the hardest thing he had ever said. But he would not let Ran’jit take her. Not again.

Banter and quips soon gave way to snarls and grunts as they fought for the freedom of the child they loved. In the end, he counted himself victorious.

Nevermind he was on his back, the packed dirt shuffled and blowing around him after the battle, the Light burning above.

No matter. She was safe, and making her choice.

He prayed she made the right one.

He remembered his girl, years ago and a world away. He had not done his best, not back then as a callow youth, but she had loved him anyway.

He hoped he hadn’t disappointed her too badly these last few years, failing again up to the last minute. He was foolish, in so many ways.

He covered his eyes with his arm, wishing for darkness. He said his goodbye, though the wind and his broken breath stole the sound of the words he had never managed to say before.

Yet he somehow felt she heard. She knew.

She had always known him better than he knew himself. She had always known what she was asking of him. She had trusted he would figure it out, when all was said and done.

And as usual, he had done what she asked--he just wished he’d done as his friends had urged, had taken the many opportunities to tell the child she had given him to love.

Had he another chance, he wouldn’t deny her anything.

* * *

They stood together again in the ruins of Naabeth Areng. The sky was a clear blue, the Floodwall glimmering translucent in the desert sun. It was bloody hot, but he felt cold in the shadow of the palace ruins.

He couldn’t stay.

Part of him wanted to return to the Source and his body, of course. But a large part of him wanted to stay in this healing little world, with these people--with her. His girl.

She set the flowers down and straightened, stepping back, hands clasped. “There,” she said. She raised a hand in prayer, bowing her head. “Thank you, for everything. We’ll carry on from here, and make you proud.”

He stood next to her, smiling, ignoring the stinging in his eyes. He would not, could not break down. Not here; he had to be strong just a little longer, for her sake.

But when she looked up again, there were tears in her eyes and her smile was sad. He reached his hand out, as he so often did, but she was faster for once.

He blinked when she embraced him, his arms automatically hugging her in return, stroking her hair. “I know it’s wrong,” she said, hiccuping a little. “But part of me wishes you could stay. Or that I could go with you. Or--just—”

“I know,” he said quietly. “Part of me wishes the same.” He closed his eyes and lifted his face to the warmth of the sun. “Your kindness, your compassion, your love...These are your gifts to me, and our gifts to them, forming a bond which transcends time and space.”

“Wh-what?” She choked.

He laughed a little, looking down to her again. “Something she said to me, once. It holds especially true now.” He stroked his girl’s hair. “I’m supposed to be the bard, but those are the only words that seem right to say.”

She smiled, understanding. She stepped away, and he felt a little emptier. She looked at the Floodwall, then back to him, as if she were about to say something.

He realized that if she did ask him to stay, despite all reason--he would.

The moment passed, and she wiped her face and squared her slim shoulders. “We should head back; Magnus and the others will wonder what we’ve done with their trolley. Again.”

They both laughed at that, and he followed her, ready to head to where they had left the talos.

A wind kicked up behind them, scattering the petals into the air, and he was reminded of another time the flowers had fallen. When a girl had lost her father, because of him.

“...Do you want me to stay?” He asked suddenly, before they descended the stairs off the dais. His heart was hammering.

She took a long moment to respond. His girl took a deep breath, before turning to him, eyes watery but determined.

“I want,” she swallowed. “You, and everyone, to be safe and alive,” she said, managing a firmness to her tone. He couldn’t help but almost smile; he knew, perhaps better than she did, how stubborn, how determined, she could truly be. “Anything else...can maybe be figured out later.”

He nodded after a moment. “As you wish,” he replied, pride and heartbreak warring in his chest.

She was right, and he knew that. It wasn’t as if his colleagues wouldn’t seek some means of return, but until then they had to make the smart choice. He simply wasn’t able to make it himself, and so even knowing what she would say he had left it to her.

After all, he could never deny her anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merriam-Webster: Part: An essential portion or integral element. One's share or allotted task (as in an action); duty. To separate from or take leave of someone; to become separated into parts; to go away, depart; to relinquish possession or control.  
> (At least the definitions that make sense for this.)


	14. Ache

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Early Heavensward 3.0: At the Rose House before returning to Ishgard, Aeryn experiences emotional fallout after a spontaneous moment of comfort with the dearest of friends.

This had been a mistake.

Aeryn sat on the edge of the bed, staring at nothing for several minutes after Haurchefant slipped out. Heavens forbid anyone thought he spent the night in the Warrior of Light’s room; that would, of course, be _scandalous_.

She had tried to write in her journal, then tried to write a new letter to her stepsister, and even resorted to pacing around the small room after the day’s events. Emmanellain’s careless antics had ended in kidnapping, battles with the Vanu--and the revelation the tribe had summoned their god, who apparently took the form of a giant, flying whale.

Thank the Twelve for Cid’s exceptional piloting, otherwise they’d have been said whale’s snack.

The knowledge she was going to have to eventually fight the primal gnawed at her, had kept her up and anxious. Haurchefant too, apparently--well, that, and apparently Emmanellain snored loudly enough to wake the dead. Laniaitte had put the brothers and young Honoroit in the same room.

Dear Haurchefant had had a nightmare about Aeryn rushing off to fight the primal--or so he claimed. They had talked, and he had rubbed her tense shoulders, and in her keyed up, anxious state he had been an island of calm and understanding and warmth and…

Aeryn rubbed her face and swore at herself.

She stood and crossed the small room to the wash behind the screen. Not the most glamorous accommodations, but Laniaitte had been generous offering Aeryn this room by herself. She used the store of water crystals, at first to simply wash, but after a moment’s thought, she used the bulk of them to fill the bath, adding fire crystals to heat it. May as well; she had gathered these crystals herself and would be leaving in the morning, returning finally to Ishgard and Fortemps Manor.

Her stomach knotted at the thought.

She winced as she lowered herself into the tub. The ache wasn’t unexpected, though the warm water helped; perhaps she wouldn’t be too sore in the morning after all.

Why, _why_ had she done this?

She knew better. She had been young when she had made her first, fumbling attempts at physical intimacy. It was what one was _supposed_ to do, wasn’t it? One was _supposed_ to want the person one was interested in, _supposed_ to desire physical closeness as much as the emotional, yes?

Her body _did_ seem to have the expected feelings and reactions, after all. Just...not in response to the two young men she had tried to have relationships with, years ago. Her mother’s illness had, shamefully, made for a good excuse to not attempt other courtships after those first two each ended in disaster. Nevermind how they had both also spread word that Aeryn was frigid, a typical Coerthan prude, and all manner of other things due to her disinterest in reciprocating their physical attentions as often as they had each wished.

It wasn’t that she hadn’t enjoyed it, when the mood struck. It simply wasn’t something she needed, not the same way they did. Incompatibility and boyish stupidity, her sister had said to comfort her after each attempt, each broken heart. Someday, Aeryn would find someone who understood and respected her, Rashae was certain.

More certain than Aeryn herself was.

Now here she was, years later and old enough to know better, but making the same mistakes. She knew Haurchefant cared for her; his every word and action sang it, even without the Echo’s whisper drawing the warmth of his emotion around her like a blanket.

Tonight that blanket had damn near smothered her.

She had initiated everything; he had been careful, considerate, asking if she was certain and in the moment, she thought she had been. She cared about him, after all, and her body wanted for release and _wasn’t this how it was supposed to work?_

She sank down into the tub, until the steaming water was just under her nose.

He would expect more from her after this--and she wasn’t going to be able to give that to him. Especially as she realized now-- _only now, godsdammit_ \--that her love for the knight wasn’t the same as his for her. That she didn’t want this--want _him_ \--that way after all.

She had thought--but no. She loved him; she was not _in_ love with him. But why did she have to do something so _stupid_ to figure that out?

Aeryn blew out a frustrated breath, the water rippling. It was cooling quickly. So she finished cleaning herself and stepped out, watching the water drain back into the collector to be recycled for the crops in the small fields the Ishgardians maintained on these floating isles.

Isles threatened by Bismark’s existence. She was going to have to deal with that sooner or later, before it bled the Sea of Clouds empty. Definitely more important a concern than her using her stress and loneliness and a purely physical need to take advantage of one of the dearest friends she’d ever had.

She would simply have to avoid Haurchefant as best she could for a few days, until she had sorted herself out well enough to truly sit and talk with him. Hopefully without ruining everything, especially after all he had done for her and her friends.

Aeryn picked up her hastily discarded night clothes, looked at them, tossed them down again to pack away in the morning, digging out a spare shirt and briefs instead. She ignored the bed with its damp, rumpled sheets and sat back at the desk, coaxing the lamp a little brighter as she picked up her pencils and sketchpad.

If she was not able to write nor sleep, the only recourse was to draw. She realized partway through that she was sketching images of the missing Scions while humming a song she and her fellow bard had danced to for the others’ amusement. Aeryn dropped the pad on the floor while she thumped her head on the desk.

It was simply, apparently, a head and heart aching sort of night.

She remained in the chair, head resting on her crossed arms, dozing in fits and starts with almost-dream visions of a giant whale and a watery tunnel plaguing her until morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merriam-Webster: Ache: To suffer a usually dull persistent pain; to become distressed or disturbed (as with anxiety or regret); to feel compassion; to experience a painful eagerness or yearning; a condition marked by aching.
> 
> For context: Aeryn is somewhere on the asexual scale--leaning maybe toward demisexual--and generally sex-favorable, though she can live without it. Romantic overtures then tend to be confusing, especially in trying to sort out romantic relationships, which do not come easily/quickly.


	15. Lucubration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pre-Canon: In the Sharlayan Colony, Archon candidates Yda and Thancred are under academic crunch--which is a problem for one lonely little girl.

A rapping at his window startled Thancred, sending his pen scratching across the parchment and ruining the line. He growled in annoyance and looked to see just who the bloody hells was interrupting his work.

It was Yda, shifting nervously from one foot to the other on the balcony. She must have hopped up the same way he often did, with help from the grand old tree in the Leveilleur yard.

“Can I help you?” He asked as he opened the window. When last he had looked out, the sun was still just above the western hills; now night had fallen on Sharlayan, the moons and stars wheeling overhead.

“Have you seen Lyse?” She asked, trying--and failing--to keep panic from her tone.

“I haven’t seen anyone since—” he glanced at the chronometer finally and rubbed his eyes. “Since dinner at least. Bells ago.” He gestured at his desk (and the page he was going to have to rewrite, godsdammit). “I’ve an essay due to Master Fraeskoef in the morning.”

“What you get for taking advanced literary analysis as an elective.”

“It’s actually part of my main curriculum now,” he replied with a yawn.

She looked skeptical. “Still not sure what stories and songs have to do with your particular skill studies.”

“That’s why they’re mine, while yours are rather more straightforward. Anyroad, why are you looking for Lyse this time of night? Shouldn’t the little rapscallion be tucked in her bed?”

“If she was, I wouldn’t be here,” Yda replied, exasperated. “I know she’s been bothering you lately, so I’d hoped she came here to show off what she swiped.”

“Swiped? Since when is Lyse a thief?” Thancred asked.

“I assumed you’ve been feeding her stories again,” Yda said darkly, then shook her head. “Also, Mister Perception, haven’t you noticed something missing?”

He blinked, then realized just what did seem so wrong.

“Your mask,” he answered. He could count on one hand the times he’d seen Yda without her turban and the mask worn either on its front or down over her eyes. A couple times had been summer days of swimming and silliness in the Thaliak, the others rare festival days where she instead wore her traditional Ala Mhigan dress.

“If she’s taken it in a fit I—” Yda shook her head. “I need to find her. But now I don’t know where to look, if she isn’t pestering you.”

Thancred thought for a moment. Sharlayan was a large city, sprawling on either side of the river. There were plenty of places a nine year old girl might hide.

Assuming, of course, the girl stayed in the city.

“I have an idea,” Thancred said, turning to grab his shoes. “She mentioned something, the last time she was…” he paused.

Lyse had come running up to him earlier that day as he had been on his way home from a particularly strenuous cat-and-mouse session with Master Enfel Hopfel. Thancred recalled being short with the child, wanting to get home to clean up, eat, and get to work on his other assignments before crashing to sleep and doing it all again tomorrow. The road to becoming an Archon--particularly if one was attempting to speed down it, having had to already play catch up at basic academia with his peers--was a busy one, not leaving much time for playing with energetic little girls.

“Last time she what?” Yda asked.

He really looked at Yda. Like him, she had dark circles under her eyes, and more than a few bruises and scrapes from her own rigorous training. Yda had long since determined that she would become an Archon to best take care of her little sister in their adopted homeland, and to repay Papalymo and the others for their aid. Hells, her immigrant status and more physically based studies had been a large chunk of Thancred’s inspiration for his own scholastic pursuits.

But it didn’t leave Yda much spare time, either.

“I may have blown Lyse off this afternoon,” Thancred said, pulling on his shoes as he hopped out the window to join Yda. “She was mentioning something about the hills beyond the Arboretum. Between the two of us we should be able to track her down.”

Yda looked a little pale at the thought. “You’re better at that than me. Gods, I hope she didn’t go out there; there’s bears in those hills.”

“Then let’s hurry,” he said, using the balcony’s railing to swing down to the ground. Waiting the brief moment it took Yda to join him, he noted Master Louisoix’s study window also still had a light on; not unusual for the old man.

The pair padded through the streets. Others wandered by, visions passing between the glow of streetlamps and shadows, moving to and from libraries, laboratories, and homes. A few still-open cafes glowed warm and inviting, hosting late night study groups and silent social readers, sipping their beverages while taking in the ambience with their books.

As they crossed the courtyard of the Arboretum, Thancred glanced at Yda. “You know, I’ve never asked just why you always wear that old mask.”

“I guess I’ve never said,” she replied, frowning slightly. “I...well, I don’t know how to say it without...sounding callous.”

“Callous?” As if that word could ever describe a Hext.

“Father gave it to me.”

Ah. Family things. No wonder Yda hadn’t mentioned it.

“He wanted to keep me safe,” Yda continued. “So it was to hide my identity while in the Rebellion. We were fighting our own people at first--the Corpse Brigade could be damned nasty, and they didn’t care much that I was just a kid.”

She wasn’t that much older, honestly, but a few years at their respective ages could make drastic differences--more so when one fought in war.

“Then there were the Garleans...And they were worse.” Yda’s eyes scanned the brush line as they passed the edge of town and the ground began to slope up. “Our father was a leader, and he had made a lot of enemies.”

“I can imagine.” It seemed polite to say something, at least. Thancred began to look for signs of a little girl’s passage, while still listening to Yda.

“When he was gone...I don’t know. We weren’t able to take much with us, you know. I worried more about getting Lyse somewhere safe than any of our possessions, even Mother’s heirlooms...So the mask is what I have.”

“And she knows how important it is to you.”

“Sort of,” Yda said. “I...I’m really not sure how well she remembers him. Or any of what happened before we came here; she was so little. I know she doesn’t remember Mother.”

 _I can’t remember anyone_ , he thought. Out loud, he said, “Well, you do all right. We just have to find her.” He pointed to a narrow little trail. “This way.”

“You’re sure?”

Thancred nodded. “Stay quiet.”

Yda nodded, and they continued on. It was only a few more yalms and around a bend in the hill before they found the child, sitting on a log that had fallen across a deep ditch, forming a natural bridge. Her legs swung as she sang a little song to herself, the mask on her face.

“Lyse!” Yda called, running forward.

Lyse jumped, nearly rolling off the log in surprise. “Yda! Thancred!”

“I was so worried about you!” Yda exclaimed, stopping just at the edge of the ditch. “You could have been hurt and we wouldn’t have known!”

“You found me anyway.” She sounded petulant.

“I found you,” Thancred said, walking up to the tree trunk, pulling himself up, and then flipping into a handstand, hoping to amuse her. “You were trying to tell me about this earlier, weren’t you?”

Lyse glowered, her expression visible behind the too-big mask. “Yeah, but you were a jerk and now I don’t want you here.”

Ouch. He flipped back down to land on the trunk a good fulm from her. He didn’t bother to hide his hurt; Lyse had never spoken to him that way before.

“Lyse!” Yda admonished. “Don’t be rude! Thancred’s—”

“Busy!” Lyse shouted, the words echoing off the nearby hills. “Just like you! Always busy, all the time, studying and taking tests and doing homework and I hate it and I hate this place and I ha—” she hiccuped into tears before she could get out the rest.

Thancred looked helplessly at Yda, remembering to shut his jaw after a moment. Younger sibling tantrums were well outside his wheelhouse.

Yda closed her eyes, counting silently, before making her own way onto the fallen tree. Lyse was now between them, arms crossed tight against her chest as she tried to remain angry, though silent tears slid from under the mask and glimmered on her cheeks in the starlight.

“I’m sorry,” Yda said. “I have been really busy lately. We all have.” She glanced over at Thancred.

He cleared his throat. “I suppose I did snap earlier,” he said finally. “I wasn’t actually mad at you, though; just tired.”

Lyse tried to speak, but it came out as a whine and she clamped her jaw tight again.

“We’re always tired,” Yda said, voice cracking. “And always busy, and always doing something...except spending time with you. That’s my fault. I can do better. Will you let me?”

Lyse breathed heavily for a short time, thinking. It didn’t take long; she turned and flung herself into her sister’s waiting arms, almost sending them both tumbling backwards off the log. Thancred let out a sigh of relief as Yda’s strong legs remained hooked under the wood, holding them both as she cradled Lyse, stroking the girl’s back.

Thancred looked up at the night sky, not wanting to intrude more than he already was. It was hard to know what to say or do in such a situation.

So he sang.

Quietly, at first, starting with the song Lyse had been singing when they had found her. He figured out a way to transition it into an Ala Mhigan folk tale he had stumbled across in his studies. Lyse leaned on Yda, her ragged breath slowly evening out, both of them listening. By the time the last note faded into the clear night air, Lyse had quietly pulled the mask off and offered it back to Yda.

“I just...wanted to have something of you with me,” she said quietly.

Yda chuckled. “Whenever you like--just maybe ask next time.” She kissed Lyse’s forehead.

There was a strange, lonely ache in Thancred’s chest as he watched them, but he couldn’t help a smile, either. “It’s a bit chilly, and rather late for both students and little girls,” he said. Then he held up a finger. “But! A night this nice shouldn’t be wasted, don’t you think?”

Yda raised a brow as she affixed her mask to her turban again. “Don’t you have an essay due in the morning?”

He shrugged, propping a foot on the tree trunk. “Honestly I was writing myself in circles; a break will do me good. I can come up with something to tell Master Fraeskoef, not to worry,” he waved a hand dismissively.

Yda shook her head, smirking. Lyse looked down thoughtfully, then at Thancred. “I don’t actually hate you, you know. I’m sorry for what I said.”

He reached over to give her blond ponytail a tug, presenting a little white flower for her before she could scold. “I know,” he said with a wink, tucking the bloom behind her ear. “But thank you. I’m sorry too, for what it’s worth.”

He hadn’t known for sure, actually, and it was nice to hear. He could keep that to himself, though.

The trio watched the moons and stars wheel over Dravania for another bell, worries of studies put off until the morrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merriam-Webster: Lucubration: Laborious or intensive study. Also, the product of such study —usually used in plural.
> 
> Featuring my recurring headcanon that of Louisoix's students, the orphan immigrants of Thancred and the Hext sisters understood each other best in some ways, and how they might have been treated by the academic natives.


	16. Fade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-Shadowbringers/Canon: In a distant future for the First, Ciuna meets a new Ally, and remembers.

Ciuna woke in the early morning hours, a moment of disorientation giving way to a relieved smile.

It was dark.

She rose from her hammock slowly, joints creaking in protest. But she would not skip her vigil. She made her way through Fanow, so much larger and busier than in her long ago youth. Still, there were platforms under open spaces in the canopy where an old woman could sit and watch the dawn.

One of those places was where her current qitari scribe found her as the darkness began to fade, pink edging up into the sky as the stars slowly winked out. “Good morning, Master Ciuna,” the girl said brightly, nose snuffling. “The gods have blessed us with a beautiful day, and the Matoya will be arriving from Slitherbough not long after breakfast.”

Ciuna smiled, watching the vanishing stars. “I knew her, you know. The first Master Matoya--well, _our_ first Master Matoya; she had called herself that after her own mentor, on that other world the Warriors of Darkness came from.”

“I remember, Master Ciuna,” the scribe replied patiently.

Ciuna fixed her gaze on the young qitari, pleased by the girl’s slight fidget before she stopped, squared her small shoulders, and gazed back with her big, bright eyes. She wasn’t more than what, five? A young woman in the vibrancy of life, the men of her tribe vying for her attention--but she would rather tend to the ramblings of an old woman, dutifully writing down all Ciuna could tell her.

So much like her ancestor, dear Chaqurl; he had lived to be nearly thirty, a truly venerable age for the qitari. In the centuries since, Ciuna had decades ago stopped trying to remember her scribes’ names. A handful of years ago, she had stopped feeling guilty about it.

“Yes, you qitari never forget, do you?” Ciuna said, trying to sound harsh, but she couldn’t help her fondness for the ratlike girl. “This new Matoya had best be more reasonable than the last,” she continued, looking back to the brightening sky. The stars were almost gone now, and the deep indigo was fading into a lighter blue.

She still sometimes expected the Light to return, especially on cloudy mornings when the sun struggled to reflect through them, making bright, billowy pink-gold highlights too reminiscent of her distant childhood memories. Today, however, was blessedly clear.

It would be a good day.

“Let us get you your breakfast, and soon enough we’ll find out, Master,” the scribe said patiently, offering her tiny hand.

Ciuna sighed and took it, getting up--still stiff, gods bless, she was going to have to deal with that--as the sun finally rose and the forest came awake.

* * *

The new Matoya reminded Ciuna a great deal of the first to bear the title as they made their way into the Ravel. She hadn’t known the woman so well as the old chief Almet and her sisters--Ciuna and her sister had been but Master Lanille’s apprentices in those days, after all--but the mystel’s sheer force of presence and will had been hard to ignore as they had all worked with her to learn many of Ronka’s secrets.

The tradition of a leader of the Night’s Blessed taking on the title of Matoya had begun when a young drahn had come of age and declared that her name in the light would be in honor of the woman who had guided them through the final years of the Flood and stood alongside the Warrior of Darkness. Since then, one of the Blessed’s council of priests had taken on the name; mostly women, two men, once someone who was neither. They had been of the various races of Norvrandt. This woman was a mystel, the first in a while. Her hair was black and eyes deep violet, but her willful bearing and intelligent, sharp wit were much like the Matoya of eld.

Still, as Ciuna led the way, she noted this one had none of the arrogance of her most recent predecessor-- _that_ woman had been nigh insufferable, and only the patience of centuries had seen Ciuna through her tenure. Instead the new Matoya was respectful, and almost giddy with excitement.

“Here we are,” Ciuna said as they finally reached the murals in the heart of the ruins. Matoya’s breath drew in sharply as her dark eyes drank in the sight.

The ancient murals were faded, though there was some discussion among Ciuna’s students of cleaning and repainting, attempting to revitalize the tale of the star’s destruction and rebirth. The newer murals, however, had been painstakingly completed in the decades after the Flood’s end in a similar, yet decidedly modern, style.

Ciuna’s gaze lingered, as it often did, on the shadowy figure of the Warrior.

Her friend. Not many left on this old world who could say that anymore.

“They say you knew her,” Matoya said, voice hushed in reverence. She knew she stood in an old place, a sacred place. One no longer haunted by Ronkan traps and sin eaters.

Ciuna couldn’t remember the last time anyone had seen a sin eater.

She nodded to the young woman. “I did. The books speak of great deeds and feats of wonder. And they’re all... _mostly_ true. But she was so much more than that indomitable hero of the tales. She was helpful. Funny. Tired. Haunted. Kind.” Ciuna smiled, remembering. They had all been so young back then, when the Light filled the sky. “She came to find her lost friends, scattered across the realm--your namesake among them. Together, they ended the Flood of Light and saved our world, though it was not their own.” She chuckled. “Sometimes in the forest, I begin to remember the old times, and I think I still see them. See her. But it is a trick of an old woman’s lonely mind.”

Matoya frowned and looked away. “You have guided many of us through the years, Master Ciuna. My predecessor spoke highly of you, and your stories of those days.”

“Did she?” Ciuna asked, amused. “I can’t think of a time we didn’t argue.”

“She was...a handful,” Matoya laughed, tail lashing in bittersweet amusement. “I hope to benefit from your wisdom for as long as she did.”

“Hmph. ‘Tis more like you will be the last Matoya I meet,” Ciuna said softly. She smiled gently at the girl’s stricken face. “Do not despair, child; ‘tis the natural way of the world, after all. Besides; my sister and the others await me in the Sunless Sea. I cannot keep them waiting forever. And, mayhap, on those distant shores, I shall see my old friend again as well.” She looked back up at the mural.

“Before I took this name, I traveled across Norvrandt, and even the New Reaches,” Matoya said. She spoke of the places that used to be called the Empty--another miracle the Warrior, the Oracles, and their friends had begun. “I believe that no other mortal lives who remembers the days of the Flood of Light. The fair folk...well, much of what they know, they do not tell.”

“Not without games and compensation,” Ciuna said, laughing. “And many among them do remember, even if eventually they too fade into slumber. There may come a day when none even among them ever met the Warriors who saved this world.” She gestured to the ancient murals. “As there are none now who recall the birth of the star. All we have left are their memories.”

“But memories fade,” Matoya said. “Without those alive to remember them.”

“History is learned, not lived,” Ciuna reminded her. “I can describe to you every detail of my youth, and while you might comprehend much, you still would not understand it as I do. Yet that memory of my telling, and your retelling, ensure those stories live on, changed though they may be. Your own name is a testament to the recording of history, is it not? So long as one among the Blessed takes the name Matoya, a part of that brilliant woman will continue to wander in the shadows of this forest.”

Matoya considered that for a long moment, ears and tail slowly flicking, fingers carefully tracing the owl symbol of Ronka on the medallion she wore, denoting her role as Ally and Keeper of Histories. Finally she lifted her head. “I want to know everything.”

Ciuna looked up at the murals again. The Warriors of Light. The Ancients. The Oracles of Light and Dark. The Crystal Exarch. The Scions. The Warrior of Darkness. In her mind’s eye she saw them all, young and vibrant and oh so determined.

Like the young woman looking to her now, with that same fire and determination in her own unwavering gaze. So very familiar, somehow.

“Then listen well, Matoya of the Night’s Blessed, for there is much to tell, and together, we shall preserve a little longer the memories of the world they gave us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merriam-Webster: Fade: to lose freshness, strength, or vitality; to lose freshness or brilliance of color; to sink away, vanish; to change gradually in loudness, strength, or visibility.


	17. Panglossian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shadowbringers: In the alternate future of the 8th Umbral Era, Midgardsormr picks up a very old conversation.  
> Spoilers for the Omega raids and _Tales from the Shadows_ short stories concerning the alternate timeline.

The celebration had gone late, but now all the Ironworks personnel were asleep, either in their beds (or a colleague’s) or before the fires where they had been talking and drinking.

Never had an empty space in the skyline been so inspiring--and now, Midgardsormr noted, there was less to block the sun as dawn crept nearer the horizon line.

He had taken a smaller form, that power still his though he had fully reclaimed the shell he had previously inhabited. He sat on a rock, watching over these mortals as he had for many decades now.

A clanky whirring noise caught his attention, and the old construct tottered over to the stone, bumping into it before stopping, the sensor on top of the battered chassis pointing Midgardsormr’s way.

In his own language, the dragon asked, “Do you see now? Have you learned what Alpha tried to teach you?”

There was a pause, and the grinding of parts not built to last so long. The construct shuffled, its clawed feet dragging in the dust until patterns emerged.

MORE DATA REQ

“Hmph,” Midgardsormr sniffed. “While 'tis but a short span to us, surely you have come to at least a preliminary conclusion.”

The construct paused for another moment. More scratching in the dirt.

TESTING

Midgardsormr gestured a claw to where the Tower had stood. The sky beyond was growing bright. “This strikes me as a test passed.”

YOU ALWAYS BELIEVE

“In them? Of course.”

WHY

He could be pedantic and insist that if Omega was going to speak using Eorzean script it also use proper punctuation, but that pettiness was well below him. Besides, he was in too good of a mood after far too long.

The birth of an Astral Era always did that to him, though.

“They have such a short span, yet accomplish so much--and if done well, can inspire others to take up their cause, complete their work. To continue to fight, and build. ‘Tis different from a dragon’s life and perspective. They are endlessly fascinating.”

The construct’s gears ground in thought, sensor spinning jerkily to where the Tower no longer stood, then back at the sleepy Ironworks camp, before scratching further in the dirt.

HOPE REMAINS

Something old cracked in Midgardsormr’s heart as he stared at those words, and then at the shambling construct that had written them. A rumbling laugh left his throat. He could already sense his eldest remaining children scoffing and rolling their eyes at their sire’s apparently endless optimism.

“Aye, my old enemy. Even for such as we.”

He banished the thoughts of crushing the toy chassis under his claws, to be done with the wretched machine once and for all. Instead, he thought he might speak to young Biggs about a few necessary repairs.

‘Twas the start of the Eighth Astral Era, after all; a time of change and new chances.

The two ancients watched the dawn together, and looked forward to the new day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merriam-Webster: Panglossian: Marked by the view that all is for the best in this best of possible worlds; excessively optimistic.  
> Dr. Pangloss was the pedantic old tutor in Voltaire's satirical novel _Candide_. Pangloss was an incurable, albeit misguided, optimist who claimed that "all is for the best in this best of all possible worlds." So persistent was he in his optimism that he kept it even after witnessing and experiencing great cruelty and suffering. The name "Pangloss" comes from Greek pan, meaning "all," and glossa, meaning "tongue," suggesting glibness and talkativeness.


	18. Where the Heart is

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shadowbringers, Post 5.3: Aeryn reflects on the meaning of "Home" and how the Scions' are scattered across two worlds--particularly Thancred's.

Aeryn had never equated home with places, but with people--and too many had been taken from her by the mysterious voice and his Call. She had crossed time and space to find those stolen pieces of her heart. When she had found them, together they had done the impossible: saved two worlds, and in so doing saved each other, their futures rewritten.

She had not expected to find more pieces to fit into the framework to call home as well.

The twins, the archons; she had them back, safe and sound, none the worse for wear--if anything, in better health than when they had fallen. And now they had a new member, returned as well from both his own adventures on the First and his long slumber. They were together, with the other Scions in Revenant’s Toll.

All as it should be, was it not?

Aeryn was checking a few of her alchemy notes when she heard a sigh from the armchair across the room. She glanced over to see Thancred set aside the book he had been reading to simply stare at the fire, a faraway expression on his face--not for the first time since returning.

He had been as happy as anyone else to be back in his own body, to see their friends and comrades again, to receive Tataru’s presents and begin to make good use of them. And yet…

Thancred, too, equated home with people, though he was far more guarded about that fact. A childhood of instability and loneliness had left him wary. The pragmatist in him tried to keep everyone at arm’s length, to present a mask to the world, to continue expecting betrayal or abandonment, one way or another.

His heart had always been too big and optimistic for that, however, no matter how he tried to fight it. He hadn’t been able to keep Minfilia out even through the carelessness of his youth, and home had followed wherever she led--until she left them.

He had found more than he expected in Norvrandt when seeking her. Minfilia was gone, those old scars finally allowed to heal--and along the way, he had been granted another blessing.

Aeryn knew, though did not say it, how he had considered staying on the First. If Ryne had said anything, he might have tried to find a way, no matter how dangerous the notion. But Ryne wanted the Scions safe and alive, and so he had done what needed to be done.

That didn’t make it easier.

They had come home to those in Eorzea who loved them, but Norvrandt loved them, too. For years the Scions had called that realm home, and the people in it family. For Thancred especially, a part of his heart remained across the Rift. Aeryn wasn’t sure he could be whole again so long as that barrier remained.

She had the fortune to travel back and forth, carrying letters and love between her homes. It wasn’t fair that the others couldn’t do the same. That she couldn’t have her whole heart together in one place, that he couldn’t.

In moments like this, she could almost understand the Unsundereds’ motivations. But their actions were unconscionable; there were, there had to be, better ways.

Aeryn quietly added notes and ideas to those she already had in her grimoire. She had to redouble her efforts in finding a way to better link the worlds, to allow others to pass safely across the Rift. To reunite the scattered pieces of their hearts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((This was one of those where I had too many ideas and ended up with a reflective piece that isn't a favorite, but it feels right for the post-ShB events. Also realized when I opened this up to see what needed editing that I had ended up using the short phrase that has now been revealed as the 5.4 patch title, "Futures Rewritten" and had a bit of a chuckle.))


	19. Foibles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Early Stormblood 4.0: Thancred helps Aeryn clean up her pack before she heads to Doma, and comes to a realization.
> 
> Followed by the extra credit entry "[Realizations](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25417882/chapters/65114050)" in _Unexpected_

Thancred stopped by the opened door. Inside her room, Aeryn was staring with a furrowed brow at her overstuffed pack. He leaned on the frame, watching for a moment. “Dare I ask?” He finally said when she hadn’t moved for well over a minute.

She jumped. “I didn’t see you there, sorry!” She gestured for him to come in before rummaging through the pack again, removing some things, adding others. The wreckage of her indecision was scattered all over her desk.

“Obviously,” he replied, accepting the invitation. “Weren’t you and Lyse to be prodding our Doman friends for information?” He cast a critical eye over the array of items. Aeryn’s room was typically very orderly, clean and uncluttered--except for her adventuring pack and, so the rumors said, her wardrobe. Both were supposedly fit to bursting with a variety of items, keepsakes, trinkets, and more clothes than one woman possibly needed.

“We did,” Aeryn replied, puzzling over what looked like a hunk of titanium ore before placing it on the desktop. “And we were given plenty of advice. Getting ready to head back to Limsa to meet the others and our ship.”

“You really ought to just dump that and start fresh,” Thancred said, not for the first time. He gestured broadly to the mess on the desk. “Take only what you truly need.”

“But much of what I need is already in here, and there might be more—”

“Not if you can’t even find it,” he teased gently as she huffed. He looked over the flotsam on the desk again. “I’m not even sure what half of these are…for example, what’s this?” He asked, picking up a blade.

Rather, part of one; half a katana blade, from midpoint to tip. It wanted for a good cleaning, marred with dirt and perhaps, uncomfortably, blood along the still-sharp leading edge. Not unusual for a blade to break like this, depending where and how the swordsman struck. “Where did this come from? I don’t think it belongs to any of our Doman friends…” he trailed off as he looked at Aeryn again.

She was staring at the blade in his hand, face pale, eyes the darkened grey of a stormy evening. Her hands were pressed to her abdomen just below her breasts, where he knew under her clothes were still tightly-wrapped bandages--to support her bruised and cracked ribs, and also cover the alchemical medication used to ease her pains and continue healing the deep cut as well.

Thancred remembered reading the report on the assault on Rhalgr’s Reach, his blood running cold over how close so many more of his dearest friends had come to death, how many Resistance soldiers had died or been left crippled. When Lyse had come home to tell him about their plan to go to Doma, he had asked her if the reports of Aeryn’s defeat at the Legatus’ hand were as terrifying as the missives had made it out to be.

* * *

Lyse looked away, shuffling foot to foot. “It...it was bad,” she said. “I couldn’t stop him, Y’shtola’s shields _broke_ , and Aeryn--gods, she tried, you _know_ how she tries--but he was so...I’ve never seen anything like it. When I saw her fall, I couldn’t...It seemed impossible.” She chewed her lip, blue eyes distant. “Maybe I just started believing the stories too much, you know? How she’s always winning, always coming out the other side and I _know_ it isn’t that simple, but…” Lyse took a shuddering breath.

“Is she all right?” Thancred asked, fighting down his own fears and anger--most of it at himself, not being there once again, when they needed him, when _she_ needed him...

It took a moment for Lyse to reply. “As she can be. Physically, she’s healing well enough; you know she heals faster than most, and she’s had some of the best care. But...I think this has shaken her. Not that she’ll ever admit it.” Lyse shook her head. It took her a moment to continue, voice quiet. “We didn’t even know how bad it was at first. She stumbled to us to help with healing Conrad and Y’shtola. But when it came time to move them to the infirmary, she passed out.

“She didn’t want to worry us,” Lyse continued. “She had to hold on, be the hero everyone expects.” Tears welled in her eyes. “She _knows_ how everyone sees her, what they expect, and she _tries_ to be that unbreakable champion but she’s _not_ , she’s _Aeryn_ , and…” Lyse covered her face with her hands, trying to regain control.

Thancred stood there awkwardly for a moment. Finally he reached a hand to her shoulder. “Lyse, it’s going to be all right—”

The next thing he knew the air was whumped out of his chest by Lyse flinging herself against him in an embrace. He weakly laughed; he really should have expected it from her, of all people. He stroked her hair and patted her back. “Aeryn’s alive. Y’shtola’s alive. We knew the risks, and gods know we’re paying for it, but we can only move forward from here.”

“I know I know I know, but...I keep feeling like—”

“Tell me about Alphinaud’s plan,” he gently interrupted. “Trust me; getting mired down in the what ifs and if onlys doesn’t help.”

It was Lyse’s turn to shakily laugh as she pulled away. “It almost sounds like you’ve _learned_ something, this last year you all spent up north,” she said, wiping her eyes. “But you’re right. So! Here’s why we’re in Revenant’s Toll…”

* * *

Back in the now, Aeryn continued to stare at the broken blade. “Aeryn?” Thancred asked, pitching his voice to give it a sharp edge sure to catch her attention.

She blinked and looked back at him, some of the color returning to her cheeks, some of the clouds lifting from her eyes. “I’m not sure why I kept it,” she quietly admitted, looking away and tucking a strand of fine black hair behind her ear. She still had a hand on her ribs, rubbing idly.

“...Is this the blade he used to cut you down?”

She nodded. He stopped himself from dropping it, swallowed the rising bile in his throat, and wondered how quickly he could get it to the forge--perhaps the Ironworks shop, that was closer and surely they had a way to smelt the wretched thing.

For the moment, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Aeryn. Are you sure you’re ready to travel? To search out Yugiri and Gosetsu and try to start another revolt in Doma?”

She didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she turned the pack over, dumping the contents out as he had so often recommended, shaking the bag until objects and dirt and gods only knew what else stopped coming out of it. She wrinkled her nose at the mess, but began sorting the supplies. “Help me decide what I’ll need; you’re good at determining necessities.”

“That doesn’t answer the question,” he said tersely.

Aeryn paused, not looking at him. “I have to _be_ ready. And I’ll have the entire sea journey to finish healing besides,” she continued, trying to forestall his reply.

Thancred frowned, even as he began to help pick through her gear. “It’s not just about the physical healing. You know that.”

“I don’t want a lecture, or an argument,” she said. “We decided the Scions would go to war alongside the rest of Eorzea. I’ll do what needs done, until this is over.” She flicked her gaze up towards him as she re-folded a pair of miraculously clean socks into a more compact shape. “And you can’t tell me you wouldn’t do the same.”

Thancred sighed. “You have me there. Just...do be careful. Nothing too reckless--by which I mean,” he said quickly, holding up a finger and giving her a wry grin. “Listen more to Alphinaud and Tataru than to Alisaie and Lyse.”

Aeryn affected a pout, but then grinned back. “I’ll do my best. Would help though if we had another bard with us. Sure you don’t want to come along? There are all sorts of stories about Kugane, and then there’s Doma…”

He shook his head. “Tempting, but no; with Y’shtola out of commission, I’ll be heading to Gyr Abania. Neither Krile or Arenvald have much experience in the field, and the others are still too new to our order. Still, we’ll rally and get the Resistance back on track while you’re fomenting rebellion half a world away.”

It really was tempting, he realized. Especially when the words “half a world away” left his lips. They seemed heavy, somehow.

He was simply affected by all the news of doom and gloom, and Lyse’s earlier tears. This was just another mission and Aeryn determined to complete it, while he had his own duties to attend. Hopefully, they really wouldn’t need him to watch their backs; it was always so tricky, when they were purposefully separated out like this, instead of acting in concert as a team.

Thancred realized she had not replied, but that wasn’t unusual for Aeryn. They continued to work in mostly silence, separating the piles of junk from the actually useful supplies and gear she would need for such a journey.

They were nearing the end finally when he lightly bapped her fingers with his own when she reached for a third alembic, making her pout for real this time while he shook his head.

“You already have one too many,” he admonished. “Even taking into account how the things might break.”

“I just really like that one,” she replied.

“Then swap out one of the others for it.”

“It’s not as precise as the other two, but it’s prettier and--”

He gave her a baleful look. She raised her hands in defeat. “All right; it can stay here in the cabinet,” Aeryn conceded.

“Then that should do it,” he said, looking at the detritus on the desktop. “I’ll see to cleaning this up so you can get going; wouldn’t want to keep Lyse and the others waiting too much longer.”

“I’ll be there sooner, and several ponzes lighter, than I’d be otherwise without the help,” Aeryn said as she closed up the pack--without having to resort to stuffing and shoving the thing. “Thanks.”

Thancred smiled. “Anytime.”

She looked about to say more, but then hefted the pack and began to walk out.

“Aeryn,” he impulsively touched her elbow to stop her as she passed him. She looked up, a brow raised. He instantly felt sheepish. “Do take care of yourself,” he said. “For the rest of our sakes, if not your own.” He earnestly meant it, recalling those storms in her eyes earlier.

She smiled at him, and then suddenly stepped forward to lean into a quick hug.

He was again caught by surprise, but swiftly regrouped, returning the friendly embrace. She was warm and her hair smelled of violas today; she had created a fresh corsage for her hair, the white petals stark against her fine black tresses. Her red coat was freshly laundered, leaving it a bit stiff--much like the tension underlying her frame.

“Sorry, I just...We’ll be fine, and back before you know it,” she said, stepping away again. “Take care of Y’shtola and the others while we’re gone.”

He hid his odd disappointment at how soon that was over, giving her a grin instead. “Of course. Safe journeys.”

She headed down the hall as he watched. He lingered in the room for a while longer, taking his time cleaning, determining which items needed to be put away on shelves and in drawers, throwing a good deal of trash away, dropping the clothing in a basket to take to laundry, wiping down the desk and sweeping the floor for all the stray bits that had fallen. He tried to be thorough, knowing how neatly she liked to keep things, but also, he eventually realized, he was stalling at the idea of leaving her space, though she had just left it to join the others as they traveled across the world…

On the other side of the realm was one thing; that was an airship or even teleport away, if he could get someone to take him. Kugane? Doma? That was entirely different.

He walked the broken katana blade to the Ironworks shop across the small square. The engineer on duty looked puzzled, but agreed it would be no trouble at all to scrap the metal. The awful thing gone, Thancred took a long walk around the Toll trying to clear his head.

He couldn’t get the scent of violas out of his nose.

He was simply concerned for her--for all of them, he told himself, as he returned to the Stones and went straight to his room to work on a few final bits of paperwork before heading out himself in the morning. The situation in the Reach had been bad enough, she was still healing the injury the Legatus had dealt her, and now they were traveling across the sea. Why shouldn’t he be worried?

He frowned at a form he had tried to read three times already, but instead kept thinking about the earlier conversation and packing. It had felt like old times.

They had been talking more again, true, and finally relaxing toward a more casual friendship as they had enjoyed before the Banquet--it had taken the events with the Warriors of Darkness and Minfilia to do it, perhaps, and now the more recent loss of Papalymo. He had appreciated Aeryn’s consideration and support through those difficulties, even when Thancred was being an arse, which he had taken several steps to apologize for. He had enjoyed returning to their long talks and comfortable silences, and they had even sang together after dinner once, her eyes sparkling as they harmonized while the others cheered. He kept thinking about her smiles, the way she laughed at his jokes, how she looked at him, how warm she had felt in his arms--

_Oh bloody hells._

His nutkin squeaked and nosed his arm as Thancred sat with his face in his hands. “I’m fine,” he muttered to the rodent. “It’ll pass. Thrown off guard, that’s all.”

He took a deep breath as he wiped his hands down his face and stared at the ceiling. “It will pass,” he repeated to himself firmly, before trying to return to work.

After all, if he didn’t admit to it, even to himself, that meant it wasn’t true. At least not for a little while longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merriam-Webster: Foible: The part of a sword or foil blade between the middle and point. A minor flaw or shortcoming in character or behavior; weakness.


	20. Argy-Bargy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shadowbringers, sometime between 5.0 and 5.3: Literary discussions are Serious Business. And frustrating for those uninvolved.

“How can you possibly think that’s a reasonable argument?” Aeryn sounded crosser than Alisaie had heard in awhile, and she looked up from her lunch to see the Warrior of Darkness stalking onto the terrace of the Wandering Stairs, face clouded over.

Thancred was half a step behind, brow furrowed in disgruntlement. “Because it _is_ a reasonable argument, made in many an essay by some of the more learned minds in Eorzea.” He pulled a chair out for her to sit in.

“The comparison doesn’t hold up,” Aeryn replied, taking the seat. Her annoyed expression cleared long enough to smile and wave to Cyella, who was likewise watching with a raised brow. She nodded and turned to get a fresh tea brewing. Aeryn looked at Thancred as he sat down at the table, stormclouds gathering again. “Too many documents have been lost here in Norvrandt for us to say there aren’t comparable criticisms. We have to judge the works on their own merits.”

“Very well. Pendleton has none, being shallow and only interested in trivial affairs over the larger picture.”

Aeryn gaped a moment, completely affronted. “Shallow? Perhaps to someone with the emotional depth of a tea saucer,” she rejoined, while his response was to clutch a hand to his heart before rolling his eyes. “Pendleton delves into the day to day and brings the scope of individual lives into sharp relief, and how the greater events have an effect over all. _You_ just want more gory battles.”

Ryne sat heavily at the twins’ table, rubbing her temples and groaning.

“What are they on about?” Alphinaud asked her, his own gaze turned to Aeryn and Thancred’s...discussion.

“Literature,” Ryne replied sourly. She lowered her head to her crossed arms.

“...Literature,” Alisaie repeated, glancing back at the other table, where now Thancred was leaning forward to speak.

“--Hamaru adds a great deal of individual scope and emotional resonance in those battle scenes you so disdain, which employ various symbolic—”

Alisaie tuned out Thancred’s argument again. “Gods save us from bards left too long to their own devices. How long have they been at it?”

“All morning,” Ryne replied, voice muffled in her sleeve. She shifted to prop her chin on her forearms. “I seriously considered tipping them both over the railing and into the aqueduct under the Pendants,” she continued darkly.

The twins both blinked at her.

“Sounds about right, given some of their livelier discussions back in Eorzea,” Alphinaud said after a moment. He tried returning to his own book, his meal finished just before the scene began. “They share tastes in most literature and music, but the genres where they clash are...divisive.”

“...You know, it’s funny how Urianger suddenly decided he had other things to do today,” Alisaie said.

“Y’shtola too, come to think of it,” Alphinaud replied. He and his sister exchanged a glance, Alphinaud shutting his book with a snap. “Right, let’s go. C’mon, Ryne.”

“But I haven’t gotten—”

“We’ll get you lunch elsewhere,” Alisaie promised. “But we need to _go_ before they drag _us_ into this.”

“Frankly you’re lucky they haven’t gotten you involved already,” Alphinaud said, glancing over his shoulder as he urged both girls ahead of himself. The two older Scions were still engrossed in their argument, chairs facing one another, knees nearly touching as they argued the literary qualities of a favorite Eorzean author to a favored Vrandtic writer.

Alphinaud wondered how he had really not noticed their romantic involvement before; his younger self had been terribly inattentive.

“You’re not leaving me to deal with this,” Cyella sighed as she passed the fleeing youths, the waitress’ hands full with a tea service headed in the direction of Aeryn and Thancred’s table.

“Sorry Cyella, we’ll make it up to you later!” Alisaie said cheerily, dashing down the opposite stair while behind them, Thancred and Aeryn continued their debate on authorial merits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merriam-Webster: Argy-Bargy: Chiefly British. A lively discussion; argument, dispute.
> 
> ((The "chiefly British" part explained everything when we got this word. A few Brits were like "oh yeah, it's a thing."
> 
> I actually shuffled a few paragraphs around from the original version on Tumblr, but it's all there still. Short, sweet, and silly seemed the best option for this. Don't get between a couple of nerds and their bonding over literary analysis.))


	21. Shuffle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dark, C'oretta, and Aeryn teach Iyna to play Triple Triad, with some good-natured ribbing involved.

“This has to be a trick,” Iyna said, eyeing the game board.

Aeryn only blinked at her. Dark Autumn, sitting to the side, sighed and pinched the wide bridge of her nose. “Sadly, I doubt it.”

“You’re not even playing with any advanced rules how are you this bad?” C’oretta asked, mostly upside down as she watched while sprawled over the back of another chair.

Outside the Gage Acquisition offices, a rainstorm pelted Western Thanalan, forcing a retreat indoors and leading the four women to the company’s lounge. Once C’oretta found out Iyna didn’t know how to play Triple Triad, she had convinced (bullied) the others into teaching their viera friend.

And obviously it was best to pair a novice player with Aeryn.

“Like I could maybe understand if you were playing with Same or Plus or any other rules set but come on Aeryn you do higher math all the time as a caster!” C’oretta admonished.

“You’re not helping,” Aeryn muttered, looking over her cards. “And magic just...makes sense.”

Iyna looked between the others, and then put down a card--immediately capturing three of Aeryn’s.

“We need to get you better cards,” Dark said.

“I can’t get better cards if I can’t win a game,” Aeryn sighed, playing her last hand--not that it mattered, the board was solidly Iyna’s.

“Well if nothing else I believe I understand the basics,” Iyna said. “Apparently better than Eorzea’s champion does.”

“...I’m getting another drink,” Aeryn said as she stood. “Anyone want anything?”

“Just a refill of my iced tea for me,” Dark said.

“Same,” Iyna replied.

“Sunset cocktail just tell the staff they’ll know the one so is it my turn yet?”

“Hells no,” Dark said, taking the chair opposite Iyna before C’oretta could twist her way upright. “I’m not pitting a newbie against you, that isn’t fair.”

“Aww,” C’oretta flopped into the seat of the chair, legs folded underneath her, an exaggerated pout on her face.

“Why not?” Iyna asked.

Dark handed her deck to the miqo’te. “You can shuffle for me.”

C’oretta glee’d and took the cards. The stiff paper cracked sharply as she proceeded to rapidly fan them, motions a blur as the others watched.

“Emperor’s beard,” Iyna said as she watched the cards split and slide into a fresh order.

C’oretta shrugged. “My daddy liked card games and stopped by the gambling halls on his way home a lot and he showed me all sorts of tricks so I could keep up with one of Ul’dah’s favorite pastimes.”

“Don’t play her ‘til you can beat me reliably,” Dark said good-naturedly. “Maybe Erick, too, he’s decent enough. But C’oretta knows all the various rules and how to game them.”

“If anyone needs new cards it’s me I could do so much better if I had a decent deck but—”

“But for the good of the realm, we can’t allow it,” Aeryn deadpanned as she came back with a tray of drinks. “You’d bleed everyone dry of gil in weeks.”

“The dream,” C’oretta sighed, taking her cocktail while handing Dark back her deck. C’oretta’s glass wasn’t very large and she downed it quickly, a mischievous glint in her eye.

“Hrmph,” Iyna said, selecting her cards. “Well I think I’ve got it, but you mentioned different rules?”

“Oh yes,” Dark replied. “There are regional rules, too, and other options. We’ll play a normal hand, then go over a few now that you’ve gotten past the easy mode.” Dark took her drink from Aeryn, who pouted and handed Iyna the other glass before sitting with her own.

“Aeryn’s nothing if not reliable,” C’oretta said cheerfully as she hopped to her feet and stretched. She waited until Aeryn was seated and taking up her own drink. “And it must make it easy when Thancred decides on a game of Strip Triad.”

Dark facepalmed, while Iyna just raised a brow. Aeryn sputtered and choked on her tea, blush flaring, turning to glower at the miqo’te while still coughing.

“And time to leave enjoy the rest of your game Iyna byeeee~” C’oretta said cheerily as she dashed to the stairs, Violet scrambling up from her cushion by the fireplace to chase after her mama with a pig-like squeal.

“You could chase her,” Dark pointed out evenly, setting down the first card as Aeryn finished coughing. “Or just let her have this.” The door banged open upstairs, the sound of the rainstorm briefly louder before the door slammed shut again. “Hope she wore a coat.”

“And really,” Iyna said, considering what to place next. “Is she wrong?”

There was a beat, then Aeryn covered her reddened face with her hands. “I’m not answering that,” she answered, voice muffled.

Dark and Iyna exchanged amused looks, Dark jokingly mouthing ‘that’s a no she’s not’ while Iyna suppressed a snicker.

Iyna played her card, and soon realized Dark was going to be a more interesting opponent than Aeryn had been. The rain fell over Western Thanalan, the trio cozy in the lounge while outside a laughing blonde and pink blur dashed through the rain into Ul’dah for more interesting gaming.


	22. Beam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Early Stormblood 4.0: Aeryn has an evening conversation with Carvallain on the _Misery_.

Aeryn woke, frowning at the wooden beams above her head, everything rocking and creaking. Her sleep haze cleared and she recalled where she was: aboard the _Misery_ , on the way to the Far East.

She looked around the little cabin they had been given, a repurposed storeroom with the Scions crowded inside. They had left Limsa Lominsa earlier that day, Urianger at the docks to give Alisaie a sword and see them off.

_“Look ye where the sun doth rise…”_

Aeryn got up, stretching, almost losing her balance as the ship swayed. She pulled on her boots and slipped out, the room warm and stifling.

A cool wind blew, the ocean waves a constant background noise along with the creaks and rustling of ropes and sails and wood. A few sailors remained awake to manage the ship and keep a watch, but none of them disturbed her as she made her way to the bow and looked out over the dark water under the starry sky. The moon was full, light shining down and reflecting off the waves, the need for lanterns minimal even at this hour.

Her wandering mind, seeking for something other than Urianger’s prophecy, wondered if Thancred would know the various parts of the ship and what to do. True that he hadn’t been a pirate in his youth, but he had to have picked up a few things; it’s just what he did, normally. But he had stayed in Eorzea to continue the work there…

“You’re up late,” Carvallain’s voice broke against her thoughts and she straightened from her position of leaning on the railing to blink up at the captain.

Now that Tataru had pointed it out, the resemblance to members of certain high houses of Ishgard was difficult to unsee. Aeryn cleared her throat. “Could say the same of you, Captain.”

He shrugged. “It’s my ship,” he said. “It’s good to check on the late shift before retiring. Besides, on a night this nice, I enjoy a bit of stargazing.”

She bit her lip for the immediate response that came to mind concerning astrology and only nodded. “I suppose there’ll be plenty of opportunity for stargazing as the journey continues.”

“You should hope so,” he said. “If we can avoid the storms we should get to Kugane with little difficulty. Unless we’re becalmed, but this time of year that seems unlikely.” He turned his silver gaze from the sky to study her. “Actually if you might indulge a bit of curiosity…?”

Aeryn nodded. “Go ahead.”

“I’ve heard rumors you’re Thavnairian, but lately the Ishgardians have taken to calling you their own. Though given what you’ve done, I suppose that shouldn’t be a surprise they’d want to claim you.”

“It’s both,” she replied. “My mother was Thavnairian, and I spent most of my childhood there. But my father was Coerthan and that’s where I was born, in some little village near the border with the Twelveswood.”

“Must be some story, their meeting and courtship. Was he a knight?”

She shook her head. “A simple farmer, I was always told, and all I barely remember. I was very young when.” She paused, then shrugged. “Dragons.”

“Ah. Of course,” Carvallain replied. “Always comes back to that, doesn’t it?”

She caught the bitterness in his tone. “Maybe not anymore,” she replied. “Not that way, at least.”

“Yes, you finally ended the war, they say. Bravo. Avenged your father too, in the process.”

“I didn’t do it for vengeance,” she was quick to reply, catching his raised brow. “Even his brother and father agreed, there was no reasoning with Nidhogg; it had to end.” She looked up at the captain. “I did it to stop needless bloodshed, on both sides. To save my friend. Because it needed to be done, and I was there and able to do it. That’s all.”

Carvallain studied her for a long moment. “I do believe you mean that,” he finally said. “Perhaps your reasoning would be different had you remained in Ishgard through your childhood; perhaps ‘tis for the best you did not.”

It was Aeryn’s turn to pause for a time. “Do you ever think of go—”

“No,” he said with a stern, dangerous finality of tone. After a beat he affected a grin and threw out his arms. “I have all I shall ever want or need here. This is the life for me, the life _I choose_ that leaves me free to do as I will.” He dropped his arms. “Not much more that a man could want, really. And I think in some ways, you understand--far more than those hidebound old nobles or zealous peasants ever could.”

She smiled and nodded. “Perhaps I do. For now, I think I’ve had enough of the night air and may try sleeping again.”

“Best you should, I plan to take advantage of your offer of help tomorrow,” he grinned.

Aeryn laughed. “Good night, Captain.”

“Good night,” he responded. As she turned away, he quietly added, “And thank you.”

She paused, but simply nodded once more before crossing the deck, still feeling unsteady as it tilted with the gentle motion of the waves.

At the door leading to the stairs that would take her back to the cabin below, she turned to look once more. In the cool light of the moon’s beams, Carvallain stood at the bow, arms crossed, looking forward to whatever waited beyond the horizon line.

She really couldn’t imagine the pirate anywhere else.

Aeryn returned to the cabin. There was work to do in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merriam-Webster: Beam: One of the principal horizontal supporting members (as of a building or ship). Nautical; the extreme width of a ship at the widest part. A ray or shaft of light.  
> (the applicable ones out of many definitions)


	23. Wish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post Shadowbringers 5.3: A soft and quiet night of reading and cuddles for Thancred and Aeryn.

Aeryn was seated at her desk when Thancred slipped into her room. She gave him a tight smile and nod before her gaze returned to the documents before her, pen tapping on the rim of the inkwell as she thought. A moment later and she scratched a few notes.

He could see the stiffness in her shoulders; that sort of a night, then. At least she’d already changed into her sleepwear.

“I brought a new book,” he said. “One of those Ishgardian romances you like.”

She only “Mmhm’d” a response, checking her journal.

Thancred considered a moment, then placed both hands on the desk and leaned forward. “I understand there are such lascivious acts as  _ hand holding _ and  _ using given names _ within the pages,” he stage-whispered.

That made her pause, raising a brow, the corner of her mouth twitching upward. She had to clear her throat. “‘Tis a wonder the Inquisition allowed it to print,” she replied.

“Indeed,” he answered, straightening and stepping around the heavy oak desk. He noted her teacup was half-full and cold. “What are you working on and how long have you been at it?”

Aeryn paused again, and he could practically see her internally debating how much to say even as he rested his hands on her shoulders--gods, she really was tense--and peered at the paperwork. Diagrams of the Ultima Weapon and similar designs were shuffled under reports, his quick eye catching Baelsar’s name among others on the pages before she closed the portfolio cover and set her journal over it. “I’ve maybe been at it too long,” she admitted.

She didn’t like discussing the Weapons Project with him; it tended to take his mind to dark places only partially remembered while awake and causing hazy nightmares when he slept. “Well then,” he said, flexing his fingers over her stiff muscles while pretending he saw nothing. “Shall we read for fun instead? The book comes highly recommended.”

“...How highly?” Aeryn asked, melting under his touch as he set to massaging some of that tension away.

“Lucia sent it. ‘Twas among the welcome home package from our northern friends.”

Aeryn made a pleased mrr’ing sound, leaning forward as his hands continued to work at her knots. “High indeed. You read; I feel I’m going cross-eyed after looking over these reports.”

“As you wish,” he said, not stopping the massage. “Shall I leave you slumped here in your chair, or stoke the fire so we may sit—”

“Bed,” she answered, placing her hands on the desk to push herself to her feet.

Thancred scooped Aeryn as she stood, grinning when she squeaked in surprise. “I can walk you know,” she grumped, an arm automatically hooking around his neck. “And you shouldn’t strain yourself.”

“I’ve never felt better,” he answered. “Allow me the brief indulgence of spoiling you.”

She gave in rather easily, head resting on his shoulder for the short time it took for him to carry her across the room and around the partition to her bed. The heavy comforter was already turned down, and there was enough space among the myriad pillows to settle her. “Right back,” he promised. Thancred retrieved the novel from the desk, turned down all but the bedside lamp, and took off his shoes and shirt before joining her.

It was not a long book--more of a novella--but it was entertaining enough that he could feel the tension melting from Aeryn as they curled up together amid her too-many pillows and the downy comforter. She leaned back against his chest, her fingers idly tracing the lines of his forearm, her other hand reaching up to brush along the side of his face and play with his hair as she listened, giggling at the increasingly ridiculous voices he affected for each character.

The chronometer chimed a late hour as the story came to an end--happily of course, the various fictional couples properly engaged and all right with the cast’s fortunes and honor. “Going to have to find a good story to send in return,” Aeryn said, her fingers continuing to drift over his skin.

“Agreed.” Thancred leaned over to deposit the slim volume on the nightstand, shifting them both until she was on her back on the mattress now. He rested his palm on her stomach, sliding to her side and up as he leaned in to kiss her forehead, her eyes, her cheeks. A drawn in breath, and they pressed closer, her leg hooking over his as their lips met, warm and soft.

The kiss ended with another content murmur from Aeryn. “Exactly what I needed.” Her hand stroked idly along his spine.

“And is it all my lady needs tonight?” He asked, continuing to trail kisses along her jaw, against her ear, down her neck.

She took a moment to answer, tilting her head to allow his path to her shoulder. “Yes, think so,” she replied.

“As you wish,” he said, leaving a kiss on the round of her shoulder. He continued down her arm, until he caught her hand in his and pressed his mouth to her wrist. She sighed happily, then tangled her fingers in his hair and pulled him down to her lips for another warm, gentle kiss. “I’ll get the light,” he said quietly, leaving one last kiss on the end of her nose as he reached up, turning down the lamp.

She quickly fell asleep, more tired than she had tried to allow herself. He watched her for a time, content to simply be close; again, still, reveling in the multiple miracles that had allowed them this nearly-perfect moment. Tomorrow he might be the one pushing too far, and she would be the one taking care of him. So it went; he wasn’t sure what would happen if they were ever on the same page at the same time in that regard, both of them too ready to go too far instead of balancing each other as they often did. It wasn’t a concern tonight in any case.

Thancred settled in next to Aeryn, holding her close, and joined her in undisturbed sleep.


	24. When Pigs Fly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shadowbringers 5.1-5.3-ish: Felina, galdjent caster of the Night's Blessed, decides to not miss an opportunity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _((Felina is Dark Autumn’s doppelganger on the First, and helps out the Scions when she can at "Master Matoya's" behest. I’ve written about her only a[couple times](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24132940/chapters/59624431), including her [threatening Urianger](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25271506/chapters/61268806) when they first met. Suggestive themes, a hint of citrus.))_

“Something has occurred to me,” Felina said as she closed a heavy tome and set it on the pile to her left with a sigh.

“And what, prithee, may that be?” Urianger asked idly, still engrossed in his own reading.

Outside the Bookman’s Shelves a steady rain fell over Il Mheg this evening, keeping people and pixies indoors. The pair of scholars had retreated to the smaller study between the kitchen and the bedchambers, to enjoy the warmth of the fire in the large hearth. It was likely this was once a dining room for the manor before the Flood, but its current occupant--when he remembered to eat, or had company who required food on a more regular schedule--usually took meals in the kitchen, or in whatever room research was happening in.

Felina stood and stretched. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the darkened windows; the white dress contrasted and complimented her brown skin, and the low cut left quite a bit of her shoulders and chest visible, the ends of her dark hair barely brushing her collarbone. It ought to be more than distracting.

“I was just remembering when we first met,” Felina said as she turned her gaze back to Urianger and began to walk around the table.

“Any particular moment in mind? I confess to not recalling aught that would pertain to our present study.”

Felina leaned on the edge of the table next to him. He was still pouring over the tome, bless him. The firelight danced along the strands of his silvery hair and glinted off the jewelry keeping that robe together. She was very nearly distracted by the way the light and shadows played across the muscles on his arm.

“Mostly, how we argued,” she said. “I didn’t trust you then, and felt certain you and Master Matoya may not have had the Night’s Blessed best interests in mind.”

He did pause his reading now, a guilty frown furrowing his brow. “Thou were perhaps correct in not extending me thy trust, given circumstances.”

Felina laughed. “You and your friends only gave us our greatest desire! Even if it were a roundabout road to get there. There’s naught for you to feel guilty over--not with me, in any case, as while you held much in reserve, you never lied to me.”

He finally looked up from the book, blinking as he looked her over, almost as if seeing her for the first time this evening. But then, she had not been so close to him before this. “If I could take back my deceptions and half-truths, to thee as well as my friends, I would,” he said.

She shook her head. For such a brilliant man, he could be adorably dense. “If anyone is owed an apology, Urianger, it is you; I was rather quick to judge and threaten then. Enough that Runar asked what it would take for us to get along.”

“Ah yes; I do recall thy response,” he said, smiling now. “I believe it was ‘when pigs fly’ in the most venomous manner. Had but a touch of thy considerable aether been expended, I would have been cut down then and there,” he teased gently.

Felina laughed. “It was a possibility! And I simply find it quite amusing now, because…” She gestured to the other end of the room, where among the books and old maps, one of Beq Lugg’s porxies snored, wrapped up in its own giant ears. “We were both of us, I think, unaware of their existence at the time.”

“Technically porxies, whilst similar in shape, and certain features do resemble the farm creature, they are not truly porcine in nature, being comprised—”

Felina leaned in and placed a finger against his lips. He paused, surprised. “Urianger, I know,” Felina said. She waited a moment, then before he could collect himself--and before she lost her nerve--she straddled his lap. “I just find it interesting, how very much has changed since.”

His eyes grew wider. Urianger cleared his throat as she removed her finger from his mouth, her arms instead draping over his shoulders. “It is uh, indeed a most unexpected development,” he said, clearing his throat again.

“Is it also unwelcome?” She asked cautiously.

He waited a beat. “I did not say that.” His hands hesitantly found their way to her waist. “I simply did not expect thee to be so...forward.” He smiled wryly. “Particularly after said disagreements as we so often had between us in the beginning.”

“You’ve won me over,” she said, then leaned in, until her forehead was nearly touching his. “If you like, I can continue to be forward.”

He drew in a breath, then broke the tentative almost-contact, frowning as he looked away. “We labor to find a means by which my comrades and I may return to our own home. My time here upon this world--with thee--is limited.”

“I know,” she said, keeping locked away how much she had recently realized that was going to hurt. “I just thought, I’d rather not regret any lost opportunities--assuming they exist at all.”

A strange expression flit across his features, his gaze far away. She was about to ask, perhaps even move off him and apologize, when Urianger suddenly cupped Felina’s face with one of his slim, strong hands, and pulled her into a fierce, hungry kiss.

She melted into his touch, vaguely noting he tasted of the tea and cinnamon biscuits they’d idly snacked on through the evening. Fewer words were needed as desire took over, hands exploring, the sound of the chair scraping, books and papers pushed aside as they found a better position that would allow them to get past clothing and answer to the finally acknowledged heat between them.

Across the room, the porxie snuffled awake at the sound of Felina’s pleased laugh. The familiar peered blurrily, then decided it ought to find a far quieter location, flapping its ears to fly out of the room, corkscrew tail snagging the handle to pull the door shut behind it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merriam-Webster: When Pigs Fly: Used to say that one thinks that something will never happen.


	25. Irenic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heavensward 3.0: A small scene from when Ysayle and Estinien were left alone in Moghome while the Scions searched for help.

The top of the world was a cold and lonely place, Ysayle thought, gazing across the distance toward the citadel she could make out on the horizon. It gleamed white under the sun in the thin, blue air atop Sohm Al.

Soon, they would be there. Soon, the others would truly see.

Soon that thrice-damned Dragoon would know his duty was all a lie.

Much like the residents of the village, however, her unwanted companion was nowhere to be found. Not that she minded; being left alone with the Azure Dragoon wouldn’t have been her first choice, but the Scions had gone to find someone to help them speak to the creatures Ysayle had seen when they arrived.

At least, she had thought she had seen something. She was starting to wonder if it had been a trick, and perhaps the two Scions had simply fled.

The greater part of her knew that wasn’t true of course; not of them. They were too dedicated to their cause, too resolute in their convictions. She admired them for that--and for the knowledge of the Echo, and all the Ascian had not told her. The Scions would return, hopefully with the aid they required to continue on from here.

Meanwhile, she had not been able to make any headway with the local dragons. Those of Hraesvelgr’s brood, if they recognized her, ignored her utterly, even leaving if she came near. Those of Nidhogg’s brood would rather fight a woman on sight than listen. In a few cases she had been forced to use spells to defend herself and escape, barely managing to not kill anyone.

That would be quite counterproductive, after all. Though a little prickle of fear wormed its way into her heart, wondering how many Estinien had killed. In self-defense? In sport? Bah; no use worrying about that wretched man; it would only upset her further.

Ysayle gathered her belongings to do as she had planned. There were hot pools not too far away, just up the road from the empty village, and she desperately needed a bath. Once outside and across the little bridge connecting the summit to the next floating isle, she no longer felt as if she were being watched. Rounding the bend at the malm marker from the village, she no longer felt she was being followed. She kept her eyes peeled in all directions--including up--but saw nothing and no one, aside from some natural wildlife which gave her as much of a wide berth as she did them.

She made it to the pools she had discovered, and watched for a moment, but no creatures came near the steaming water. There were no signs of dragons, nor any of their lesser kin. She seemed safe enough. Ysayle very quickly undressed and slipped into the water, keeping her wand close at hand just in case.

Oh, the risk was worth it, and she sighed as the warm waters covered her. She luxuriated for a few minutes, before finding her soap and getting to cleaning. She couldn’t risk staying too long.

Ysayle was wringing out her long hair to pile on top of her head when she heard what she had feared: the heavy tread and hungry growl of an archaeosaur. She let her hair fall back down around her as she reached for her wand, just as the creature came into sight.

A dark flash slammed into the ground between it and the pool and it roared. Estinien roared back in sheer defiance, spear brandished. The archaeosaur had enough of a mind to back away, hissing, before turning to tromp off to some other pool dotting the floating isle.

The Azure Dragoon straightened into a less aggressive stance, his back to Ysayle, and he sighed heavily. “You should know better,” he growled. “Wandering off like this? Mayhap I should have let it eat you.”

Ysayle blinked, hand frozen on the hilt of her wand and sorely tempted to use it on the man as he spoke. She narrowed her eyes. “Were you  _ watching _ me?” She demanded.

He snorted, and she had the distinct impression he was rolling his eyes behind that ever-present visor. “I was watching the  _ creatures _ to ensure you didn’t come to harm.” Estinien paused, half-turning to not-quite-look. “Even if I were, soldiers do everything together, so it’s naught I haven’t seen before--not that a skinny slip of a girl like you is of much interest.” As Ysayle prepared to yell, he shrugged expansively, the spear smoothly hooked into place on his back somehow in the process. “But our Scion friends would be upset if you were to come to harm--despite everything, they’re quite fond of you.”

“Ah. So keeping me safe just to keep the peace, are you?”

He was quiet for a moment, his helm pointed toward the distant citadel. “Peace is the point of this mission, isn’t it?” He asked dryly. Though not, she noted, with the cynical derision he had voiced before they had climbed the mountain. He cleared his throat. “It would be counterproductive to allow our heretic emissary to fall prey to her own kind.”

Ysayle harrumphed and began wringing out and piling her hair again. “Keep turned around, I need to get dressed.”

Estinien was still half-turned toward her, and seemed to be considering. “On one condition.”

She was tempted again to set him on fire. “Excuse me?”

“Leave the soap and keep watch for my turn in the bath.”

She blinked, not sure what to say for a moment. “...Fine. I suppose keeping the peace can go both ways. As entertaining as having a dragon eat you would be.”

He chuckled darkly, finally turning entirely away to allow her privacy.

Ysayle got dressed, and then kept watch for Estinien. She kept to herself how tempted she was to peek back at her wretched companion, just to indulge the curiosity of what he looked like under that ever-present helm. The steam of the water and the ever-present cold winds were excuse enough for her reddened cheeks at such a thought.

But neither of them were assaulted by dragons or other scalekin; they cleaned up and returned to camp in the not-quite-empty village with its hidden eyes, ready for the return of their Scion friends and the hopeful resumption of their mission for peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merriam-Webster: Irenic: favoring, conducive to, or operating toward peace, moderation, or conciliation.


	26. Paternal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-Stormblood: X’rhun Tia and Alberic Bale have a tense discussion about their mutual student’s past and a secret the Dragoon has kept for over twenty years.

Alberic entered the tavern, the room only a little warmer than the blustery snowy night outside. Patrons glanced up, most going back to their cups when recognizing the dragoon. A few let their gazes linger, trying to catch his eye.

They didn’t need to; he was already looking for, and had found, the man that had so many in the camp out of sorts.

“You’re an easy fellow to pick out of a crowd,” Alberic said as he approached the miqo’te’s table. The stranger was alone in a corner, the few other patrons and even the serving staff giving him a wide berth.

The red-clad man looked up with an easy smile. Despite the ostentatious nature of his outfit, there was a steady calm to the middle-aged Seeker, the eyes under his craggy brow friendly. “I’m not the type to try and hide,” he answered. “Care to join me for a drink?” He gestured to the empty chair across the table.

Alberic’s eyes narrowed as he sat. “Why do I feel as if I were expected?”

“You’re Alberic Bale, former Azure Dragoon of Ishgard, aren’t you?” The Seeker said, casually pouring a second glass of wine--top shelf, not that that meant much here outside the city--and passing it over.

“I am, though I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage, ser.”

The Seeker grinned and made a gesture as if tipping the fancy hat that currently hung on the back of a third chair at the table. “X’rhun Tia,” he replied. "Crimson Duelist, Ala Mhigan patriot, mentor to new red mages--including one Aeryn Striker.”

Alberic smiled and took up the wine glass. “Ah, the one that turned my pupil from the lance to the rapier,” he said, only half-joking.

X’rhun shrugged. “I would say I’m sorry, but you deserve better than a lie. She’s an excellent student.”

“I know it,” Alberic answered. “She’s also not currently in Coerthas, last I knew.” If anything, the last Alberic had heard still seemed far too fantastical and confusing. Such was the life of a Warrior of Light, he supposed, offering a quiet prayer to Halone for his errant pupil in the meantime.

“No, she is off on whatever adventure fate has drawn her into now,” X’rhun replied, his tone laced with the same worry Alberic felt. “But it is on her behalf that I come to speak with you.”

“She doesn’t usually send messengers.”

X’rhun shook his head. “She doesn’t know I’m here, or what I’ve found--yet. I thought it best to get the perspective of someone with more knowledge before I presented my possible findings to her.”

“Findings?”

X’rhun slowly swirled his wine. “I’ve been aiding some of the Lord Speaker’s efforts to make peace with those you and yours have called heretics. They generally respond to overtures from outsiders a tad easier than Ishgardian knights, funny story.”

Alberic huffed, taking another sip of the wine. He rarely indulged in this manner, and wasn’t going to look a gift chocobo in the mouth regardless of his sudden discomfort. “It will be a long road I fear,” he said. “Many are slow to forget and slower to forgive, no matter the attempts of young Lord Francel and his experiments in the Firmament.”

“Indeed. But the attempt must be made, if this nation is to heal. Believe me; we have our own troubles with that in Ala Mhigo with Garlean collaborators, though our occupation was not as long as the Dragonsong War.”

“I trust there is a point?” Alberic asked abruptly.

X’rhun smiled. “Of course.” The smile remained, if faded. “In the course of my aid to those considering responding to Ishgard’s overtures, I was lucky enough to stumble upon a rather old cache of information, memorials to those who had suffered and died for the sake of their scaly allies in the long years of the war. One name...stood out, in the hidden records I was made privy to.”

An icy chill ran down Alberic’s spine. He forced himself to stop squeezing the glass in his hand. “Dead heretics,” he said, when he could trust his voice again. “Are not a concern of the Holy See. Reclaiming the living is the current goal.”

“Seems to me that acknowledging the past, and absolving those sins, would be just as important,” X’rhun said. His eyes were sharp now, watching Alberic.

“It should be, yes,” Alberic agreed. “But we’ve long learned to live by putting off certain luxuries in favor of the greater need.” He swirled his own glass now, slowly, eyes on the red liquid rather than the man across from him.

Were it a bit thicker, it would nearly resemble blood. Alberic recalled why he stuck to ale.

X’rhun’s tail lashed, though he did not respond right away. More patrons left, the cold wind rattling the room whenever the door opened. It was soon only the two of them and the barkeep, who glanced at their table and then found an excuse to step into the kitchen.

“I must confess that though we’ve traveled together quite a bit, there are many details of Aeryn’s life that I do not yet know,” X’rhun said in a low voice despite their solitude. “Not surprising, as she’s a quiet woman. But my understanding is she was quite young when she first left this land.”

Alberic closed his eyes, trying not to remember those days. The rage and grief had dulled over the years--more so since Nidhogg’s final death. The guilt remained the same. The memory of a little dark haired girl with big grey eyes, half-hidden behind her mother’s skirt, filled his mind’s eye. The sound of Emelia Striker’s sobs echoed in his ears. “Aeryn was no more than five winters,” Alberic said hoarsely. “Her mother gathered what little she could and left, and I cannot blame her. She was never terribly welcome, being a foreigner. Without her husband to tie her here, she sought a better life for her children elsewhere.”

“Lucky for us, I suppose, given how those children turned out,” X’rhun mused. He paused for a long moment. “What was Aeryn’s father’s name?” He finally asked.

Alberic drank the rest of the wine in his glass. “I don’t remember,” he lied as he stood. X’rhun deserved better, he thought, but it couldn’t be helped.

X’rhun’s eyes narrowed. “Was it—”

“You care about our girl?” Alberic interrupted.

X’rhun leaned on the table, gloved hands clasped lightly, gaze unwavering. “Of course.”

“Then leave it,” Alberic said, firmly. He glowered down at the miqo’te. “There’s naught to gain.”

“I’m not sure I can--burying the past was what led to Ishgard’s troubles after all. And this will nag at me unless I understand _why_ I should not pursue this truth.”

Alberic drummed his fingers on the tabletop in thought, still standing, trying not to sway as memories, sharpened by the wine, crowded at him. “As much as I wish she were just another student, she isn’t,” he eventually said. “She’s the Warrior of Light. She ended the Dragonsong War. She is a _symbol_ , much as I hate that she can’t just be _Aeryn_.” He let out a deep breath. “And too many are too slow to forget or forgive.” He looked at X’rthun again. “For all there are in Ishgard that love her, she’s made more than a few enemies who’d like nothing more than a _reason_.”

X’rhun frowned as he considered that. Alberic turned to leave.

“Ser Alberic,” X’rhun’s quiet voice halted him. “Aren’t you afraid her extraordinary gifts will someday reveal what you know regardless?”

Alberic laughed bitterly. “Every time she visits,” he replied. “She already knows I’m an old fool who doesn’t enjoy divulging painful truths--so I suppose we shall cross that chasm when we must, and I shall pray she is still as understanding and forgiving as she has always been thus far.” He half-turned back to X’rhun. “If those were old records...well, many family names and lines overlapped, but were then wiped out in the Calamity. I wouldn’t pay them much mind.”

“You think this is better for her?” X’rhun asked, tail bristling and ears nearly flattened against his head.

“Here and now, I do,” Alberic said. “You’re free to disagree, but I know the situation in Ishgard. Were we in Ala Mhigo, I’d defer to you. For her sake.”

X’rhun ground his teeth. “Very well,” he finally acceded. “But!” He continued, holding up a finger before Alberic could attempt to relax. “This isn’t the end of the conversation,” X’rhun said. He gave Alberic a tight smile. “Not if we’re to keep her safe from political machinations.”

Alberic harrumphed and nodded in response, then tromped out. He had the distinct impression he was, in fact, going to see more of X’rhun Tia, like it or not. Such was the price, when they both felt a responsibility for the young woman who was the realm’s champion.

He did not return to his quarters in the small camp barracks. He walked out along the wall, found a spot clear of outbuildings or trees, and Jumped.

Alberic landed on the top of the Observation Tower, a bit of the old thrill racing in his heart even as his knees protested; since the end of the War and his old enemy’s death, he’d been practicing now and again, but it wasn’t so easy anymore these days as it had been in the years when he wore the Azure mantle. He stood on the crenelations and let the wind sting his face.

Twenty-odd years ago, he had hunted down a suspected heretic feeding intelligence to the Horde, aiding them in finding targets for their rage. Corran Striker had been alone when Alberic had found him, the man’s wife and children out on a day trip by the grace of Halone. Corran had been no slouch with a sword, but not a match for the Azure Dragoon. The Striker house, and two of their neighbors’ homes, had been destroyed when Corran transformed and his allied aevis arrived.

Alberic had done what he had to; there was no time to waste, when Nidogg was on the way to Ferndale already. There was no reasoning with a heretic who had gone so far, endangered too many people.

The Inquisition said that the immediate family members of heretics were as culpable as the sinners themselves. But with the arrival of the other aevis, no one in the village realized the truth of what had happened. Emelia and her children were innocents ignorant of Corran’s crimes, who didn’t deserve further punishment--not when all Emelia wanted was to take her children and leave for her own homeland.

So Alberic had lied. For their own sakes, he had lied to them and to the village and to the Inquisition. He was the Azure Dragoon, after all; his word was a steel-woven bond.

He counted it a miracle Aeryn’s gift hadn’t shown her the truth yet. Perhaps the Crystal took pity on him. Perhaps She wished to protect the girl, too. He didn’t know much about gods who lived at the heart of the world and chose quiet young women to be Their Champion.

What he did know was he owed Aeryn more than he dared say, and he would do all in his power to pay that debt and watch over her, in place of the father he had taken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merriam-Webster: Paternal: of or relating to a father; like that of a father; received or inherited from one's male parent; related through one's father.
> 
> This one received a few more edits and revisions/additions than many others. It came out of nowhere late evening the day the prompt dropped, after thinking of the myriad options available in this game of Dads. Before this I didn’t even have a name for Aeryn’s father, and that somehow spun from there into this with two of the job trainers she has a close mentor-student bond with (there are others but they vary in type/feeling). I always knew vaguely dragons were responsible for her father’s death and her family leaving Coerthas, but the details didn’t come out until this prompt.


	27. Splinter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shadowbringers/Pre-Canon: In the Final Days of Amaurot, the Convocation made a choice. One of their number disagreed. Azem returns home to confront her peers.

_This is my fault._

Trees were torn and shattered. Shards of glass scattered on the ground, making the walkways glitter more than usual.

She could not see the survivors but felt their eyes upon her, hidden in the shadows of the city’s ruin as she walked with slow and certain steps through the rubble.

_I should have done more. Tried harder._

The butt of her staff crunched a fragment of someone’s mask. Her feet stepped over a crumpled, burned robe devoid of an owner.

She paused at the bottom of the familiar road, looking up at a building she equal parts loved and hated for all it was and all it had represented.

What did it represent now?

_I should have been here._

She climbed the sloping walkway, head high and back straight, her staff tapping along with each remembered step.

A figure moved from behind a pillar. She merely paused, turning her gaze that way, showing no fear or concern.

Even now, there were none here who would think to hurt her. Such a gentle people.

_No matter how I deserve their ire._

“There’s naught here you wish to see,” the chords of Venat’s voice were weary and sad.

“They did it,” she answered. “I have seen the cost.”

“Not all of it,” Venat replied. “I have…concerns.”

She laughed bitterly. “Don’t we all.” She resumed her walk to the great doors.

“I have ideas, too,” Venat said, watching her. “I would value your input, given—”

“I have business with the Convocation,” she said firmly. She paused at the door, taking a deep breath. “We will speak later.”

She felt Venat’s acquiescence as she pushed the door open, moving as smoothly as it always did.

The entry hall was empty and still, the only sign of the devastation without. Normally these halls were bustling and abuzz with conversations. She continued through, not changing the cadence of her pace, staff striking the floor when her boots did not.

One last door.

_This is my fault._

She took a breath and entered.

Twelve familiar figures paused their discussion, turning from their places in the circle to stare at who dared to intrude. Silence and shadow filled the chamber, the only lights those which shone upon each place for each member.

Without explanation or announcement she moved with the habit of centuries to one of the two empty, lighted spots in the circle.

Beneath her robes her heart beat and her throat tightened, a chilly bead of sweat running down her spine. She knew the other empty spot. All the other robes were black.

_Where is Elidibus?_

“Azem,” Lahabrea said, voice colder than she remembered. “You removed yourself from this Convocation.”

“Then allow me to petition the Convocation as a private citizen.” She did not point out that he had used her Convocate title.

Come to think of it, she couldn’t recall the last time she had used his name, either. Decades, at least. The last time she had been in the city– _before_ the Sound.

He considered for a time. She sensed Emet-Selch to her right side, tensing as he watched her, waiting for whatever she had to say or do this time.

“Very well,” Lahabrea finally intoned.

She looked at each of them. Her colleagues and friends, for so very long. Despite her many long absences, she knew them all well enough to read them regardless of their robes and masks.

That they no longer treated her as one of them stung, though was expected–she _had_ left, and at the moment of crisis. But there was another, more subtle undercurrent in the room, a sense of static that had never been present before. She was not sure what it was, though had a guess and did not like it in any case.

She cleared her throat. “I stepped down from my role on the Convocation in protest of the planned course of action. Instead I attempted to find other means to stop the Sound and the horrors it wrought.”

“And failed,” Nabriales said. “Where we succeeded.”

“She has the floor,” Igeyorhm admonished, ever the Speaker’s enforcer. Nabriales made a face beneath his mask, but bowed to his peer.

“I did fail,” she replied quietly, their attention turned back to her. “My friends and I were unable to stop _your_ madness.”

The tension thickened, most of them leaning toward her. Emet-Selch looked to the ceiling and she knew he was counting for patience.

“Half of our people are dead,” she said flatly. “The sacrifice was terrible enough. But now I hear you wish to make the _same_ sacrifice _again_.”

“The world is not saved,” Lahabrea replied. “Our Lord can fix that.”

Ice gripped her heart. Every rumor she had heard rushed into her ears. Every study session and the hours of research she had undertaken filled her head and made her fingers twitch.

“For whom do we save the world, if we continue to feed this nascent god of yours?” she asked.

“We have a plan,” Emet-Selch said. She could imagine his eyes behind his mask.

Or could she, anymore? She even felt the static from him.

“Our people will live,” he continued. “All will be as it was.”

“Enough,” Lahabrea said. He turned his own gaze back to her. “We should not speak of such details with a _private citizen_.”

She did not allow them to see how that stung. She had expected such barbs after what she had done, and knowing them so well.

_Or did I? With all my wanderings, have I ever truly known any of you at all?_

She could feel her heart slowly splitting like the shattered trees outside.

“I understand,” she replied, tongue feeling too thick for her mouth. “Though I have one last question for the Convocation, if you’ll indulge me?”

Lahabrea inclined his head ever so slightly.

She looked to the empty circle of light. Her hands felt clammy, her grip on her staff loose.

“Where is Elidibus?”

They were silent, and the answer she had already known was confirmed. “ _Why?_ ” she heard herself demanding, not quite wailing it.

“He chose,” Mitron answered after another long pause. “Ever eager to do his duty to our people, to our star.” Mitron's hands clenched. “Unlike some.”

“I did my duty,” she whispered back harshly, the chamber’s acoustics sending the words as clearly as if she had shouted. “And I shall continue to do so–without you, or your thrice-damned ‘god’.”

The surge of aether rose with their sudden anger, all shifting to her–and then blocked by the wall of Emet-Selch suddenly standing before her.

“Go,” he said softly, though there was edged steel beneath the silk. “If naught has changed, this is a waste of your time and ours. We have preparations to make.”

“As do I,” she answered. Now she was certain his eyes narrowed behind his mask, from the way his mouth shifted and set. “When next we meet, it will not be as friends,” she continued, letting her gaze slide past him to each of the others.

He did not respond, or even move; he may as well have been a statue and as distant as if they stood on opposite poles of the world. She turned on her heel and marched back out.

She made it to the bottom of the ramp, where it met the main road. Still empty, still strewn with shattered bits of the world.

_This is my fault._

She had walked away, believing she had known better. She had broken the Convocation, left them to their choices, and while the world was saved the _cost_ …

The worst part was, she still could not let go of the feeling that she had been right, was _still_ right. That what they had done in their desperation was wrong, and would only lead to worse, things she never would have thought any of them capable of.

_Did I ever really know any of them?_

Swanning in and out for years on end, knowing there had been other people out in the world she felt closer bonds to, but the Convocate were her people, her peers, her family…

She half-collapsed against a broken stone railing and allowed herself to sob, giving into the pain of her fractured heart. The deluge lasted for a time, and none disturbed her; they were wiser than that, if they saw.

Eventually she straightened, wiping her tears and turning to look up at the Capitol as she straightened her mask upon her face.

“Whatever it takes, however long it takes,” she said. “I’ll put an end to this.”

The former Convocate, known to all as Azem, made her promise and took up her staff again. It tapped the debris-strewn ground when her boots did not.

She never stopped walking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merriam-Webster: Splinter: A thin piece split or broken off lengthwise; a small needle-like particle; a group or faction broken away from a parent body. To split or rend into long thin pieces; to split into fragments, parts, or factions.  
> \-------------
> 
> And that's a wrap! This year came with a few surprises, passed last year's word count again, was submitted on Tumblr/Pillowfort and then later to Ao3--different from previous years again, to allow some revision. A few NPCs, lots of a certain Rogue, actually got some of the other OCs in there. I like many of these, more than I have some prompts in the past. As always, this has been a blast, and thank you for reading!


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